The Straight and Narrow
by Neriede
Summary: The spiral towards love is made of a thousand infinitely close revolutions, all closer than the last. Nothing is as agonizing as the slow turnabout to intimacy-nothing quite as bittersweet as the tiptoe towards love. Apollo/Klavier
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Are these things really necessary at this point?

**Pairing:** Apollo/Klavier

Alright, I'm gonna admit that this is going to be a challenge for me. I've never written for this fandom before, mostly because my default writing style isn't that suited for humor, which Ace Attorney positively THRIVES on.

But it's a challenge I'm looking forward to, nonetheless. The first chapter's not supposed to be that funny anyway. Another thing that I'll be challenging myself with during the course of this story: timely updates.

Because I am the SLOWEST writer in the world. Usually I wait to upload stuff until everything is completely written out, but literally, this chapter is all I have written so far. Even so, I hope you guys like it. :3

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><p>When they took him away, he was laughing.<p>

It was the kind of laughter that made you sick inside, that crawled up your spine and made you want to turn your skin inside out. The security detail were more than eager to push his head under and through the steel frame of the van's doors, but no one immediately rushed forward to be the unlucky guard who would have to keep him company for the ride up to the jailhouse. There was just something…disturbed about him—men who had been sentenced to capital punishment just did not _laugh_ like that.

_(Or… )_, Apollo thought grimly, as he considered the kind of fortitude it took for someone to commit a crime worthy of such a severe reprimand, _(Maybe they do.)_

Apollo found Klavier a little ways from the prison van, bent over the railing and looking pale in the face. It was a bit jarring to see one Gavin being led away in chains, only to see the younger Gavin look like he was about to be sick. They really did look too alike for his tastes.

Even from a ways away, the sound of Kristoph's laughter—afforded a metallic bite from the echoes of the confines of the prison van—did not make for a good background track. It was making it harder for Apollo to think. See, Apollo knew he wasn't the most tactful person around—he was loud, and kind of awkward at social conversation. What was he supposed to say in this sort of situation? Certainly not, "Uh, yeah, sorry your brother's completely insane."

He approached the prosecutor carefully, and decided on, "Are you alright?"

Apollo wasn't quite sure what he had expected Klavier's reaction to be.

It had certainly not been a hundred and seventy pounds of German rock star bearing down on him in an embrace. Apollo almost took a step back in shock, but found that this wasn't so easy with Klavier's arms around him.

"Ah," Apollo quickly caught sight of his hands looking rather awkward floating inches from the prosecutor's back, and sheepishly offered him a few encouraging pats, "Um. There, there."

He tried to remind himself that this show of affection was probably influenced by Klavier's European roots, but that didn't stop him from feeling very self-conscious about it.

He felt a buzzing at the back of his neck as Klavier spoke, "I'm sorry."

Apollo pulled back a bit, surprised, "What? Why are _you_ apologizing?"

He then immediately realized that in pulling back, his hands had travelled due south to rest snugly on Klavier's hips. He retracted his hands as if they were touching fire, and abruptly stepped backwards out of Klavier's sphere of personal space.

_(Be cool, Justice. Don't be weird.)_

Wasn't he supposed to be cheering Klavier up? So far all he had managed to do was make himself look like an idiot. Apollo could feel himself reddening as he glanced back to gauge Klavier's reaction, and was relieved to see him actually smiling a bit.

His voice came low and soft, "Because you're the only one who understands."

Apollo wasn't quite sure what to make of that. His first instinct was to ask for clarification, but apparently he was supposed to already know, and he didn't want to make himself look any more foolish than he already had.

He settled for the more ambiguous, "…go on."

Klavier did so with a small, sad smile, "I had nothing but the utmost respect for my brother. When we were growing up, he represented the model I aspired to follow. He was my reason for becoming a prosecutor. _Everything I know about law_, I learned from him."

With this, Apollo felt that maybe he could understand Klavier's empathy a bit better—he himself had looked up to Kristoph as his mentor, had practically seen him as a sort of father figure. His admiration for Phoenix Wright in his youth had been the initial spark for his career choice, but Kristoph had taught him all the practical knowledge he needed.

"I chose to become a prosecutor because I was obsessed with the ideals of truth and justice, and I wanted to work side by side with my brother in court to uphold them," a small laugh escaped him, "I don't think he ever saw it that way though—he never quite forgave me for not becoming a defense attorney like him. He thought it was petty sibling rivalry."

Klavier titled his head back, face skyward, eyes closed, "I had looked forward to my first case. Everyone around me in law had told me, 'Your first case will always stick with you.'"

He paused and breathed out through his nose. Apollo watched Klavier's eyebrows knit closer together and felt a pinch at his wrist. He closed his hand around his bracelet and felt at a loss for words.

"They were right, of course. For the past seven years, I have looked back on that trial with what I realize now was foolish pride—but also with a sense of overshadowing guilt and uneasiness. I had intended to leave my first trial without any unresolved questions, but my brother left a stain on my first memory of court. It is a burden he has made me carry for seven years."

Apollo stood still, save for the turning of his wrist in his hand. He rubbed at the skin just below his bracelet, mulling over things. The more Klavier spoke, the more he found himself realizing that maybe he _did_ understand how Klavier was feeling.

He couldn't say that leaving the orphanage unadopted hadn't affected him. He didn't feel bitter or anything—the people at the orphanage had truly been kind to him—and he had become a grown adult by the time he had left, after all; he had become independent and fully capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much.

But Kristoph Gavin had afforded him something that he had missed out on growing up. He could barely remember his mother, but even a silhouette in a dream was something compared to absolutely nothing. Kristoph was someone he could look up to, an authority figure he could turn to for guidance, someone he had confided in. Working under Mr. Gavin had felt…good. Nice.

Like what he had imagined having a father felt like.

Apollo had woken up the day of his first trial expecting it to be a day he would never want to forget, but now he wished he could dispel the image of Kristoph's burning gaze of disappointment, the ache he felt whenever he closed his eyes and relived that moment of conviction, as if it were a tattoo branded on the backs of his lids. After that day he had pushed all of it to the back of his mind, but here it was getting ripped out of him again.

"Shit," he brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of nose, "I'm supposed to be cheering you up, not getting depressed myself."

"What makes you think you didn't?"

Apollo looked up to find himself face to face with the prosecutor, and _(Oh jeez, when did he get that close?)_

"Seven years, Mein Forehead, and not one person has been able to drag this darkness out of me," Apollo's spine bristled at the change in salutation, "But you, Justice, you have somehow managed to do what even I could not."

Klavier moved forward even closer and Apollo instinctively edged back a bit, doing his best to relax when two hands were placed squarely on his shoulders.

He mumbled nervously, tongue tied, "No, ah—just, I just followed the evidence…"

"You pursued the truth. It was the single most inspiring performance I have ever seen. And believe me," Apollo could feel the beads of sweat forming around his temple as Klavier leaned in, "that's saying something."

Apollo was suddenly aware of Klavier's hands travelling upward, touching skin all along the way before resting on his face. The way Klavier's fingers only brushed him—just light enough to actually touch—and yet still left hot trails all along the sides of his neck made Apollo shiver.

_(Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!)_

He meant to actually say this out loud, but something between his brain and his mouth just wasn't connecting. In fact, none of the demands his brain was making seemed to reach any part of his body, otherwise he certainly wouldn't have stood still as Klavier leaned in and—

_(Oh, oooh, that's __**definitely**__not European.)_

Klavier's lips moved eagerly against his own, but all Apollo managed to do was push at the prosecutor's chest and slur out a weak, "Klavier, no—" before one of the hands on his face slid down and around his shoulders. Apollo's hands ended up crushed between both of their chests as he struggled, which wasn't so easy seeing as how Klavier seemed dead set on…well, he didn't want to think about it in so much detail.

"Wait, _stop_."

Klavier's mouth began travelling across his jaw line until it met with the corner of his jaw, where he proceeded to moan against Apollo's throat. This, along with the way the sound vibrated along his skin and made it prickle, was what finally made something in his head go _click_.

"_I said STOP._"

Before he knew it his fist was colliding with Klavier's jaw and the prosecutor was stumbling back, eyes wide with shock. Apollo was taking deep, fast breathes, fist still shaking in front of him.

Okay, so Klavier had kissed him and, well, um…alright, so that obviously meant, uh…right, so…feelings?

Wait, _what_?

How the hell had this happened?

In his confused stupor, Apollo looked up to see the prosecutor nursing what looked like a blossoming bruise on his jaw.

"Oh jeez!" Apollo exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be _mad_ at the prosecutor, "I'm sorry!"

Klavier gave him a genuinely surprised look and just _stared_, and for a moment Apollo was afraid of what might happen—weren't there repercussions for hitting a high ranking member of court?

But then the laughter started.

At first it was soft and sparse, but it quickly grew bigger, like water spreading over a surface. Apollo was speechless—he swore he could see a hinting of tears in the man's eyes.

"Justice—! You're really something else!"

Years later, Klavier would remember this moment and think, _(This was how it started)_. Everyone would make assumptions and ask, "It was you, wasn't it? You completely seduced him." But then he'd have to shake his head and tell them no, that's not how it went at all.

Well, certainly, that came later, but more importantly, in that moment it had been Klavier that fell first.

Apollo would however look back at the memory a little differently. His focal point would instead consist of what he saw and heard in those final moments, the way he saw something come _alive_ in Klavier—or rather, like he'd finally let go of all the parts of himself that had died, all those years ago.

Klavier would later tease him for it, but Apollo would always swear that the laughter he heard that day was the most honest thing he had ever heard. It was the only thing capable of finally silencing Kristoph—amidst the black night, Apollo listened in wonder as the laughter of the younger Gavin drowned out the older, until he was nothing but silence under the pure sound of liberation.


	2. Chapter 2

Winter break has been good for me—I don't think I've finished a chapter this quickly before! Anyway, I hope I did alright with this. I have always believed that the strong point of Ace Attorney's writing has been its dialogue and comedic timing, so I tried my best to replicate that here. At any rate, enjoy! :)

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><p>When Trucy had asked him to help her with something, Apollo assumed it was for something school related, not…<em>this<em>.

"I said no sequins!"

Apollo grimaced as Trucy pulled the thread through anyway.

"Oh come on, we have to match! You're not a proper assistant unless we do."

He sighed, "My arm's getting tired."

"Deal with it," she responded coolly, then beamed her usual smile at him, "Pretend you're practicing your "Objection!" pose."

Apollo rolled his eyes and tried his best to pretend he was _not _currently sporting a bright red, top hat and cape. Trucy had tapered the cape's bottom into diamond tips, as per expected of the Gramarye tradition. The glitter was definitely something he could've done without, but at least the color wasn't so bad.

"Wouldn't it be better if Mr. Wright helped you with this instead?"

"He's busy studying for the bar exam, plus he's still working in the evenings. I don't want to disturb him," she pulled the thread tight and snapped it between her teeth.

"But I've got a job too! I'm a lawyer!"

Apollo watched nervously as she sifted through a box of gaudy looking baubles, "It's not like I've forgotten, but you don't have any cases right now, right?"

"Hnngh…" he relented, "Speaking of studying, don't _you_ have any homework of your own to be doing?"

"It's taken care of," she said easily.

Apollo did not take this to be synonymous with, "I've actually done it."

"Ah! Here it is!" she exclaimed, pulling out what looked like—to Apollo's horror—a heart shaped brooch.

Before she could even move to fasten it to his costume, Apollo flat-out opposed, "No. Absolutely not."

"Whaaaat? But it goes so well with this color…"

"Can't I have a club instead?"

"That's Daddy's symbol!"

"What about a spade?"

"Uncle Valant's," she nodded fiercely.

"A diamond, _please_."

"That's mine!" her voice lowered, "and my mother's."

_(Oh, give me a break!),_ he thought, attempting to stare down Trucy's doe-eyed expression.

In the end he just sighed and reluctantly said, "…alright, fine."

Trucy gave out a rather girly sounding squeal and quickly pinned it to his cape, right above his collar bone. It was at this point that the office door opened, revealing Phoenix still clad in his pajamas and clutching some old case files.

_(At least he's clean shaven)_ Apollo couldn't help but notice.

"Apollo, there was a call for—" he stopped as soon he caught sight of Apollo, who promptly turned as red as the top hat he immediately swiped from his head, "Well, you've certainly been busy."

"Just—! Just helping Trucy with a project, Mr. Wright…"

"Should I be concerned?"

Apollo visibly deflated, "Mmm…maybe a little, sir," he quickly changed the subject, "Studying for the exam?"

Phoenix nodded.

"Want me to make you some tea, Daddy?" Trucy piped cheerfully, promptly getting up to make some.

Apollo was glad that her attention was shifting elsewhere, but he had a foreboding feeling that Phoenix had come out of his office for more than just a warm hello, "What was that you said about a call, Mr. Wright?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. Prosecutor Gavin called, asking for you," Apollo tried to stifle his spine's instinct to straighten at the mention of Klavier, "but I told him you were out of the office."

Apollo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, but the sinking feeling in his stomach didn't quite go away, "…and why would you do that, sir?"

Phoenix flashed him a smile that practically sent chills up his back, "Mostly because when I asked why he needed you, he said, 'I wanted to inform him that his declaration of love is healing quite nicely.' You wouldn't happen to know what he meant by that, would you?"

Before Apollo could even proceed with his rebuttal, Trucy let out a high-pitched sound that he had hitherto thought humanely impossible, "I knew it! Ema totally owes me five bucks!"

"She doesn't owe you anything!" Apollo screeched, not quite sure whether he was more horrified that the thought of…him and Klavier had ever entered her mind, or the fact that she and Ema Skye were apparently having conversations about his _(non-existent!)_ love life.

"Oh, you don't have to be shy Apollo, there's no need to be embarrassed," Phoenix interceded, "We're very accepting here."

"But I'm straight!"

Trucy began pouring the water thoughtfully, a finger resting on her cheek, "I'm not really sure that matters."

All he could muster was the thought, _(Of course it matters!)_

"Klavier kissed _me_. There was absolutely no declaring of love on my part!"

"Well, whatever you did, apparently he's, 'healing quite nicely'," Phoenix smirked, "Just what have you two been doing?"

Apollo panicked at the possible subtext of this remark, "I hit him! _That's it._"

"Did you now? Well, that's surprising—I hadn't pegged you as quite _that_ type."

Apollo—much to Phoenix's delight—was beet red in the face at this point.

"Stop twisting everything out of context, it wasn't like that! He wasn't listening to me when I told him to stop. I'm telling you, it's all one-sided on his part—I don't even know why he's so attracted to me all of a sudden."

He buried his face in his hands, feeling the blush still burning on his cheeks. Why was this _happening_ to him? He'd paid his taxes this year, hadn't missed a single payment on his apartment! He tipped fairly and almost never jay-walked. He was an honest, hardworking citizen, with nothing particularly extraordinary about his person.

Apollo couldn't think of a single reason for why he deserved to be in this situation.

Trucy swirled a spoon round one of the cups of tea, "Aw, Polly, give yourself a little more credit—you're a very attractive person."

Apollo couldn't help but foolishly swell a little with pride, "R-really?"

"Yes," she then proceeded to pinch his cheeks, much to his dismay, "You're as cute as a button—I bet you could make all the boys come running if you wanted."

_(Trucy…you are __**truly**__ your father's daughter.)_

"It's true," Phoenix dropped unceremoniously beside the young attorney, arm draped across the back of the couch directly behind Apollo's head, "I'm just sorry Klavier got to you before I could. He's sneaky, that one."

Apollo nearly jumped out of his seat, "Sir—!"

"And I was all ready to ask Trucy to make you a 'MaMa' beanie to match this one," he slipped a thumb under the close-knit cap on his head and tugged.

"Mr. Wright, for the love of all that is holy, I'm begging you, _please stop_."

"I'm _serious_. I'm a total wreck right now—what's it called, Trucy, when your feelings aren't reciprocated?"

The chink of metal on china indicated that Trucy had finished making the tea, "Unrequited love?"

"I believe the correct term is _sexual harassment_," Apollo grimaced.

Phoenix leaned in closer, cheeky smile from ear to ear, "Oh come on, my heart's breaking here. What's he got that I don't?"

Apollo stood up, clearly flustered, heading for the door, "I…I have to be somewhere right now!"

The movement made for a very dramatic exit, or at least it would have, if Apollo didn't somehow manage to trip on his feet on his way to the door. If anything, the extra strength he put into slamming it on his way out certainly made up for it.

Phoenix chuckled as Trucy handed him his tea, "Think I overdid it?"

Trucy slowly stirred her own drink, wearing a smile that was matched only by the one worn by her father, "Probably, but I'm not complaining."

They both quietly laughed into their tea, thoroughly unrepentant.

"When do you think he'll realize he's still wearing the cape?"

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><p>Stupid Wright, with his stupid, <em>twisted<em> sense of humor. Apollo almost wished he had just let Klavier talk to him, because lord knew Phoenix had only lied to the prosecutor because he never missed the opportunity to mercilessly tease him. Apollo was legitimately upset by the time he got to the bottom floor, and to make matters worse, as soon as he got on the transit bus, he got the distinct impression that everyone on board was staring at him.

At first he thought it was only his imagination getting the best of him, but when five minutes into the ride a small child pointed in his direction and yelled, "Mommy look, a superhero!" he took a moment to check himself.

_(Dammit!)_

Well, it was too late to go back now. Apollo crossed his legs and hunched forward, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, but it didn't help that his stop was still ten minutes away. At any rate, he was at least grateful that it was only about mid-day, and not too many people seemed to be currently riding the bus.

Suddenly, he felt a light tug on his cape—he looked beside him to see the small boy from earlier. He looked to be no older than five, at most.

"Hey mister! Can I sit next to you?"

Apollo looked over to where he had seen him sitting previously and saw who he presumed to be the boy's mother, fast asleep against the window.

"I don't know if that's—"

"Don't worry mister, I promise I won't tell anyone your secret!"

"…my what?"

The boy pointed enthusiastically at his own face. Apollo brought the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose and felt the smooth velvet of a domino mask, realizing that he had completely forgotten he had put it on as part of the costume. Without waiting for a reply, the small boy climbed up into the adjacent seat, pulling his legs up and hugging them close to his chest.

"You fight bad guys, don't you?" he whispered excitedly.

The grin that the little boy flashed him was so sincere that Apollo couldn't bring himself to discredit it. Besides, it wasn't _really_ a lie to agree with him, was it? After all, he did his fair share to ensure that "bad guys" saw the light of justice.

"Yeah, you could say that."

The boy rubbed a finger under his nose, looking utterly pleased with his perceived cleverness.

"What's your name, mister?" his voice dropped even lower than before, "Your _hero_ name, I mean."

Apollo sat up straighter and crossed his arms, surprised at how willing he was to play along, "You can call me the Steel Chord."

"That's so cool! I bet you have all sorts of cool super-powers."

He shook his head, smile growing soft and wide, "I merely use the truth to catch the criminals in court. Anyone can do what I do."

The little boy's eyes grew wide, "Even me?...what's a court?"

"Court is where justice is served. If you study and work hard, you can go there one day and uphold the law too, just like me."

He could feel his chest growing lighter, his shoulders lifting as he relaxed from his troubles. It was such a cheap ego boost, and a little nonsensical and dishonest, but this was the best he'd felt all day. It felt nice to be appreciated—and yeah, sure the kid didn't have the completely correct impression, but the sentiment was certainly in the right place.

"Ronald Isaac DeLite! You stop bothering that man this instant!"

Apollo's head snapped up to see the boy's mother standing with her hands firmly on her hips, sporting a rather discerning look. Upon closer inspection, he estimated her age to be around her early thirties, but she seemed to have a sort of underlying, continual youth about her. Probably something to do with the leather jacket and biker goggles.

The young boy—Ronald, apparently—pulled at his mother's sleeve, but otherwise stayed seated, "Mommy, Mommy, this guy's a superhero, just like Daddy!"

"Sweetie, I'm sure this nice gentleman doesn't want to be disturbed."

"Oh no ma'am," Apollo quickly offered, "I'm fine, he wasn't a bother at all."

She sighed, "Really, I shouldn't have fallen asleep like that, it was rather irresponsible of me. Let me at least thank you for watching him by paying for your fare."

"No, that's alright!"

She glanced at the price board at the head of the bus, "How far are you headed?"

"Really ma'am, it's no trouble. I'm off at the next stop anyway, so it's not that hard to pay the fare myself."

Apollo slipped his hand into his pocket…only to discover to his alarm that it was empty. He quickly checked his other pocket, but again came out empty-handed. With a heavy feeling in his stomach, it quickly dawned on him that his wallet was currently back at the office, tucked safely away in the pocket of his work clothes. He slowly lifted his gaze until it was level with the woman's, who was wearing a positively blinding smile.

"…"

"Well, I guess that settles that matter," she pulled out her purse, still smiling, "Like you said, it's only the price of one stop, so don't think you're inconveniencing me."

"T-thank you ma'am, really," Apollo accepted the cash, truly grateful.

"Wait!" Ronald exclaimed, thrusting his hand into his pocket, "I want to help too!"

After a bit of searching, he managed to fish out one dime and a quarter, dropping them happily into Apollo's outstretched hand.

"You take care now, alright?" the woman said as the bus rolled to a stop.

"Goodbye, Mr. Steel Chord!"

Apollo nodded, thanked them once again, and got up to pay his fare. As he stepped off the bus, he couldn't help but feel his embarrassment flare up again as people around him began to point and stare. He watched as the bus pulled away, noticing a small face plastered to the back seat window. Little Ronald waved and smiled at him, which did cheer him up slightly. He waved back until the bus disappeared around the corner, then slumped over and sighed.

Well, this certainly wasn't good.

Normally at this point he would transfer over to another bus, but now that he knew he wouldn't be able to pay the fare without his wallet, he was effectively stuck in this part of town. He thought about calling the office, but seeing as how his cell phone was also still with his regular clothes, that was out of the question.

It was then that a thought struck him. Weren't the prosecutorial offices close by this stop?

Apollo had to admit though, that he didn't like the idea of heading over there, if only because of the possibility that he might bump into a certain individual…but really, he realized, there weren't very many options available to him at the moment.

With a sense of apprehension, he set off towards the prosecutor building, hoping to high heaven that he could find Ema Skye without running into Klavier. If his good luck continued, maybe she'd even be able to rustle up some normal clothes for him.

The whispers and glances that followed him down the street only served to quicken his step.


	3. Chapter 3

Excuse me while I try to find a balance between my personal writing style and something suitable for this series. It's a work in progress.

In the meantime, hooray for character development! These boys have flaws, and I love them for it. :3

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><p>Ema Skye liked Apollo well enough. He was a little brash, but at least he wasn't full of himself, not to mention he actually appreciated her talents.<p>

So when she saw him wandering around the parking lot with the most pitiful expression she'd ever seen and…_glittering_ from head to toe, she felt a bit of compassion for him. Without a word, she surprised him by grabbing his wrist and began dragging him towards the security gate.

"I thought I told you—" the guard snapped to attention when he noticed the young detective, a red tint dusting across the bridge of his nose, "Miss Skye!"

Ema lifted the rose lenses from her eyes, simultaneously lifting Apollo's wrist for display, who was currently looking quite miserable and embarrassed (and just a little confused).

"This guy's with me," she said simply and matter-of-factly.

"O-of course, detective!...wait, when you say he's _with_ you…"

"That'll be _all_, Dustin," she said, breezing past him with Apollo in tow.

It was only once they were inside that Apollo's mouth caught up with him, "W-wait, that guy said I need clearance."

"We'll just say you're working a case if anyone asks."

Apollo jerked to a stop, "But that's fraud!"

"Geez, _relax_, it's not like I'm sneaking you into a bank vault. Besides, Dustin's got a bit of a crush on me, so I doubt he'll tell anyone," she looked him up and down, "Besides, you must have a pretty good reason to be here if you're willing to show up wearing _that_."

Apollo let out a breath of air that was half indignant sigh, half a groan of defeat, "Yeah, about that…um, you wouldn't happen to have a change of clothes I could borrow, do you?"

Ema tilted her head, hand on her chin, "Hmm…You're about Dustin's size, I think; I'm sure he won't mind if I ask if he has anything to spare."

Apollo gave an appreciative nod, and five minutes later he was sitting in the forensics lab, being handed a change of clothes.

"You can change in there, "Ema pointed at what looked like a locker room, "Just don't touch any of my stuff."

"_Thank you_. I can't even begin to tell you what a godsend you are."

She looked at him for a moment, giving him another once-over, "…do I even want to know?"

"Hnngh…it's a long story."

She raised an eyebrow, but knew better than to pursue the subject, "Whatever. I'm going to the vending machine, I should be back in about fifteen minutes."

She promptly turned around and left, no doubt off to buy what Apollo suspected were probably Snackoos. He looked at the bundle in his hands and examined it—simple slacks and a white collar long-sleeve.

_Perfectly normal_.

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all. His smile was however quickly replaced by a look of panic as Apollo jumped at the sudden sound of a phone ringing. He glanced around and located the source of the noise on the far wall, a black, cheap looking handset with a flashing red light. He hesitated, then figured it was probably best to just let it ring and went to go change.

The phone was at most a minor annoyance as he shrugged off his cape, but it was still ringing by the time he buttoned up the collar shirt. He opened the locker room door and cautiously peeked into the lab. Ema—nor anyone, for that matter—had yet to return, and whoever was calling showed no signs of giving up. He approached the phone, looked nervously around the room once more, and then carefully picked up the receiver.

"…hello?"

A low, male voice answered him, "Took you long enough, Justice."

The phone nearly shot out of his hand.

"W-who is this?_!_" he squawked, not unlike a parrot.

"Guess, Mein Forehead."

Apollo froze. _Shit_. Not here, _please_ not now. The day was _just_ starting to look up.

"How did you know I was here?" he was quieter this time, a little concerned, but also genuinely curious.

"You walked by my office with the Detective Fräulein. It was hard not to notice your…attire."

Apollo grimaced—he could practically _hear_ the smile in Klavier's voice.

"…was there anything _important_ you needed to tell me?"

"Nothing really. I just wanted to see you."

Apollo literally bolted a good foot ahead of himself when he heard this. This was because he heard it right next his ear—the one that _wasn't_ currently pressed up against the receiver. He spun around and found himself opposite of the tan face of Klavier Gavin, and dammit, _dammit, why was this happening?_

There was Klavier, picturesque smile, pulling his mobile away from his ear with all the smooth movement of a seasoned rock star, and shit if he didn't look cool, which was just _not _acceptable at the moment, not when he was closing in on him like this. One of Klavier's hands reached up, and Apollo instinctively shut his eyes and flinched, only opened them when he felt a light pressure being lifted from his visage. In between Klavier's thumb and forefinger rested the domino mask that Apollo had, for the second time that day, forgotten to remove.

"No vanishing acts, ja?," said Klavier in a soft tone that left a red stain on Apollo's cheeks.

Apollo took a step back and found himself backing into the forensics table, and before he could even regret the movement, Klavier's hands found their place on either side of him, and he felt his temper flare up at just how unfair this was, because why, why, _why—_

…why hadn't he moved yet?

Apollo swallowed, the prosecutor's lips mere inches from his own, "You know I'm straight, right?"

"Yes. So am I. And?"

Apollo was very seriously considering that he might be insane, and that his brand of logic was off-kilter—it was statistically a better bet than everyone around him being insane. He was about to say something in response, when Klavier flashed him the sort of smile that made him think, _(Oh god, I __**am**__insane)_ and he considered for the briefest _(the briefest!)_ of moments switching to whatever brand of logic everybody else seemed to be using.

But then Klavier moved forward ever so slightly, and that was all it took for their lips to connect, and Apollo had to wonder why he had let Klavier get that close in the first place. He didn't even hesitate this time to shove the man forcefully away.

"Klavier, you can't just _do_ that!"

"And why not? Would you like me to take you out to dinner first?" he smiled slyly.

"No! I don't want to go anywhere!"

"Good."

He kissed him again, this time a little more urgently, and Apollo had a harder time prying him off of himself.

"Dammit, don't you ever listen when someone just flat out says, 'No'?_!_"

Klavier blinked at him, surprised, and it suddenly dawned on the defense attorney, _(No one's ever actually said 'no', have they?)_

Apollo brought his hand to his face and palmed his eyes, the skin cool against his flushed expression, "I'm not some girl you can just sweep off their feet."

He could feel something rising at the back of his throat, a sort of numbing pressure behind his eyes. His head was pounding and he swore he was close to seeing white.

Klavier looked at him, unable to say anything but, "I…I apologize."

Inexplicably, Apollo _snapped_, "Then stop it! I can't handle this…this…"

_(This __**attraction**__.)_

He couldn't bring himself to use another word, because this wasn't happening, this just wasn't real, and he most certainly couldn't understand why it _scared_ him as much as it did.

"Maybe one of your fans would've found this…romantic, or…cute or whatever, but I don't. To be honest, it's kind of intimidating. Just…please, stop, don't come near me."

Klavier immediately took a step back, and Apollo couldn't help but focus on this simple movement, because it made him look uncharacteristically withdrawn, so vulnerable and small. A part of him made the parallel comparison to all the times Klavier had done the same thing, had made him sweat and step back, and it suddenly struck him just how much power he held over this man, because Apollo hadn't even _moved_ to do the same thing in return, just used words, things that weren't even _corporeal_.

He locked eyes with Klavier and felt his chest constrict, because the look on the prosecutor's face was nothing short of _pained_. He clasped a hand over his mouth and didn't know what to say.

_(Shit, he's…serious. He's actually serious.)_

There was an unbearable moment of thick silence, and then Klavier opened his mouth to say something. What he was about to say however, Apollo never found out, because at that exact moment the sound of footsteps in the hallway made his nerves go into overdrive, and without giving him any choice in the matter his instincts made him bolt for the door.

He passed Ema on the way out, caught a glimpse of her shocked expression as he hurried past, "Apollo, what on _earth_—"

But he was already gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Would you believe that I actually went and checked to see if the criminal affairs department could be accessed in game from the Prosecutor's office? The things I do for a story.

And Jacqui, I know how long you've been waiting for this: _yes_, he's in this one. _You're welcome_. :3

* * *

><p>By some brilliant stroke of good fortune, Apollo had found some change in the pocket of Dustin's pants. It was not enough for a bus ride, but it was enough to make a call from a public phone. He felt a little guilty for using it, but it was sort of for an emergency. The dial tone resounded in the space of his aching head before he heard the <em>click<em> of someone picking up.

"Wright Anything Agency, Phoenix Wright speaking."

Apollo paused, hesitant, "…It's me, Mr. Wright."

"Apollo? I thought you went home early."

"Well, I would have, but I kind of, sort of…" his voice dropped to an inaudible mumble.

"What was that last part?"

"I'm stuck downtown without my wallet or transportation, alright?"

Phoenix let out a hearty laugh, "Well, I hope you're in the mood for a long walk home. You know I can't drive."

Apollo rubbed at the throbbing veins in his forehead, "Yeah…see, I might've also left the key to my apartment at the agency."

Phoenix chuckled, still as jovial as ever, "Where are you right now?"

"Down town near the prosecutorial building."

There was a moment of silence as only God knew what thoughts went through Phoenix's head—Apollo certainly didn't care to take a guess.

Phoenix's voice came crackling over the line, methodical and inquisitive, "Do you like chicken, Apollo?"

In the small space of the phone booth, Apollo blinked, "…Hah?"

"Go to the criminal affairs department across the street and stay there. _Don't move_."

Phoenix immediately punctuated the sentence with a _click_, and the sound of a dial tone alerted Apollo to the fact that his boss—his _one_ shot at getting home that day—had hung up on him. He jammed his hand into his pocket to fish out more change, only to come out with nothing but a handful of expletives rising up the back of his throat. With a vigor, he slammed the receiver onto its cradle and exclaimed the one curse that pretty much summed up his entire mood towards Phoenix Wright's cocky-ass attitude, because really, everything bad that had happened today was all. _His_. _FAULT._

"_Objection!_"

* * *

><p>This was the fourth time that same man with the trench coat had come and poked his head out of the station. He was looking for something, or possibly someone, but each time his shoulders would slump and he'd retreat back inside. On this occasion however, he slowly made his way over to the young defense attorney and placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him.<p>

"Hey, no loitering around the station, pal, you know that, right?"

"I—" Apollo paused, not entirely sure if what he was about to say was actually true, "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, um…" the man looked torn between wanting to do his job properly and not wanting to look like a jerk, "Are they coming soon? You've been out here for awhile, pal."

_(I have absolutely no idea if they're coming __**at all**__)._

"…yes."

"Th-then…just pick another place to meet up next time, okay?"

Apollo made a show of nodding eagerly, hoping that would be enough to satisfy the man and get him to leave him alone. The man smiled, obviously satiated, and began walking back towards the building. After a few steps however, he stopped and looked back at Apollo.

"Hey, while you were out here, did you happen to see a man walking around in a red cape?"

Only half listening at this point, Apollo shook his head, and the man sighed in a dejected sort of manner and continued walking.

But then it dawned on him.

_(Wait a minute…)_

"Sir!"

The man stopped in his tracks and looked back again, confused.

"Um—!" Apollo felt around for something more appropriate to call this man, but then realized he hadn't even caught his name yet, "…sir. You wouldn't happen to be looking for Apollo Justice, would you?"

The man's face lit up like a light bulb, "Yeah! Do you know him, pal?_!_"

"…I'm Apollo Justice."

The light bulb dimmed down a few watts, "…but Mr. Wright said you'd be wearing…"

Apollo inwardly groaned—it _figured_ that Phoenix had actively let him walk out the door knowing _full well_ how ridiculous he looked. Apollo didn't let himself get too mad about it though, because really, what was the payoff at this point? This was clearly just _one of those days_, and he figured he might as well just ride it out—less painful that way, he supposed.

After spending a good ten minutes trying to convince the man that he was, in fact, Apollo Justice _(I'm going to need to see some identification, pal!)_, the defense attorney found himself sitting in the back of a small, run down car, made only smaller by how the other man—Gumshoe, he learned—seemed to take up all the space upfront. He was crouched over the wheel, so as not to bump his head on the ceiling, broad-shouldered, and generally…well, big. The overall effect was that of a bear—a docile one though if you factored in his seemingly permanent goofy and enthusiastic demeanor, the kind that teddy bears were fashioned after.

"How do you know Mr. Wright?" Apollo ventured, trying to make polite conversation as they made their way out of the parking lot.

"Oh, we go pretty far back," he turned his head around to converse, and _(oh dear lord he just passed that stop sign without stopping)—_"I knew him when he was still a lawyer."

Apollo was about to say something conversational when the car lurched to the right as Gumshoe changed lanes suddenly. His stomach muscles automatically tightened in the attempt to keep himself perpendicular to the flow of gravity. The sound of an angry car horn sounded several times from the vehicle immediately behind them (a little _too_ closely behind for Apollo's tastes).

"Well that's not very nice," was all Gumshoe had to say about it.

Apollo suddenly felt very concerned for his well-being.

"Um…Mr. Gumshoe?"

"Just Gumshoe, pal."

"Gumshoe," he repeated, "Don't take this the wrong way, um…just curious is all, but…have you ever been in any accidents?"

"Of course not! I'm a very good driver! Although," and here Apollo swallowed very hard, "there was this one time…but that was only because I was running all the red lights, pal!"

Because there was nothing better around him, Apollo gripped the seat belt strapped across his chest like his life depended on it, comforted only by a single thought—

_(If I die, at least I'm not wearing that ridiculous cape.)_

* * *

><p>Trucy wasn't even all that mad that Apollo had left the costume behind at the prosecutorial building—or at least, she wasn't after he stumbled in through the door and slumped onto the couch, completely white-faced. Phoenix had never let Trucy ride with Gumshoe before, despite all his constant assertions of, "C'mon, pal! It's the least I owe you—Trucy shouldn't have to walk that far to school."<p>

After Apollo's harrowing account of the ride over, she now knew why.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a _little_ miffed about the costume.

"Pollyyyyyy, I worked so hard on it!"

And he really did feel bad, because despite how loathe he was to actually wear it, she really _had_ put all her effort into it. Currently he was standing in the Wright house kitchen, shuffling back and forth between the chicken in the oven and the mash potatoes on the stove to make it up to her. Trucy was sitting on the counter peeling carrots.

_(So __**this**__ is what Mr. Wright meant when he asked if I liked chicken.)_

Apollo glanced into the dining area where Gumshoe and Phoenix were busy setting the table, laughing about something he was too far away to hear properly. Old memories, he surmised.

His gaze lowered to where Phoenix laid down a fifth plate—was he expecting one more person?

"Hey Trucy, who else is coming to dinner?"

She puffed her cheeks and continued peeling the carrots in an admonishing way, "I'm still mad at you."

He kneeled down in front of the oven window, "I told you I was sorry!"

"Then next time keep your pants _on_ when you're at Klavier's office."

Apollo immediately sprang up, hitting his head on the oven handle on the way. For a moment he was too busy spouting exclamations of pain and clutching at his head to say anything else.

But as soon as the sting lessened, he wasted no time in saying, "That is _not_ what happened."

Her puffed cheeks morphed into a smile he swore could only have been inherited from Phoenix, despite the fact that they shared no genetic information, "Then what _were_ you doing at his office?"

"N-nothing," he could already feel his cheeks beginning to color, and he busied himself with hiding it by straightening the dish towel hanging on the oven handle, "I wasn't even _at_ his office—I was visiting Ema."

She watched him for what felt like the longest few seconds ever, then resumed peeling, that same smile never leaving her face. With one hand still nursing the bump on his head, Apollo silently stirred the potatoes, alone with the re-surfacing memories of earlier that day.

The Prosecutor's Office. Riiiiiight.

Really, it wasn't like he'd _meant_ to be a jerk. So alright, sometimes he had a bit of a problem with being blunt—but wasn't honesty supposed to be a good thing?

But then he closed his eyes and saw the image of Klavier's pained expression painted on the backs of his lids, and something in his chest squeezed, knowing that he was the cause of it. Apollo did not like knowing he had this kind of influence over the prosecutor—the thought of having this sort of power over _anyone_ made him feel uneasy, especially when he knew he couldn't reciprocate the person's feelings.

Then suddenly the expression changed, blurred and twisted until it was the image of Klavier advancing on him, eyes set and heavy-lidded, and knowing that he was also the cause of _that_ made something in Apollo's stomach twist. He mentally took in the sight of Klavier, the memory of him smiling suggestively—it made him feel a lot of things that he couldn't quite place, but he was certain that the most prominent of them was guilt.

"Apollo…?"

His eyes snapped open to a cloud of steam. Almost immediately his eyes gazed down the bridge of his nose to find that at some point his fingers had traveled from the crown of his head to rest tentatively on his mouth. He withdrew it instantly, as if burned by some memory, one he tried to quell by biting down on his lower lip. He glanced to his side to find Trucy looking at him with blinking, concerned eyes. She had stopped peeling the carrots.

"…I think the potatoes are done…" she said carefully.

It took him a moment to realize what she was referring to, "…potatoes. Of course."

With fumbling hands, he moved the pot off the stove and turned off the heat. When he stood there, hand still gripping the heat nozzle and staring into some far thought, Trucy gently put the carrot and peeler she was holding down on the counter beside her.

"Are you okay? You look a little flushed…"

Apollo breathed, "I think I need some fresh air," and sharply turned towards the backyard patio.

He was otherwise too preoccupied with exiting through the glass doors to notice that the last guest of the night had finally arrived.

* * *

><p>Miles Edgeworth was partial to certain things. He was partial to perfectly stacked files and a sharp sense of style and a good cup of hand-brewed tea (because lord knew that it was a dying skill).<p>

He could _afford_ to be partial about these things.

He was a well respected prosecutor and—let's face it—that paid well.

There was also factoring in his upbringing. Miles had tired of the von Karma view of ethics long ago, but certain habits never truly died, like the way he preferred his tea, classic and refined.

Apollo, he knew, did not have the same fortunes as he did, and his upbringing was a far cry from his own. From what little he had heard from Phoenix, he came from a background of little wealth and culture, parentless and penniless, and yet, when it came to law, still chose the less glamorous side of justice, choosing to defend the helpless despite the low income.

And that, he decided, was something to be _respected_.

"So you're Apollo?"

The aforementioned attorney lifted his head up in surprise and saw who was addressing him, "You're—!"

"As Wright refers to me, Mr. Uptight, yes."

Apollo was still wide-eyed, "_You're_ Mr. Wright's other guest?"

"I take it you've heard of me then, other than from Wright?"

Apollo was at a loss for words—who _hadn't_ heard of Miles Edgeworth? He silently nodded.

"That's nice to know—I'll have you know that whatever he says about me isn't true."

Apollo swallowed, "You have a…," it suddenly occurred to him how little about Miles he actually knew, other than what he'd heard about in the media, "…impressive case record."

All the prosecutor said to _that_ was, "Mmm."

The fact that Miles Edgeworth, a high profile prosecutor, was standing next to him having casual conversation struck him as odd. Apollo figured he would have crossed paths with him eventually, as an occupational necessity, but having him over for dinner had never once been a possibility he considered. But then again, he thought, in a way it sort of made sense. Phoenix and he did have extensive court room history together, and Phoenix _did_ mention him from time to time in a manner that suggested that they personally knew each other outside the legal house.

"He calls you Edgey." Apollo couldn't help saying.

This elicited a long sigh, "Of _course_ he does."

"Are you two close?" Apollo couldn't help but feel curious.

Miles found his way to the railing and leaned against it, staring out into the scenery, into some far-off memory, "We met in fourth grade."

Apollo's brow rose, "That sure is a long time to know someone!"

Miles shook his head, "I disappeared from his life a few months later. It wasn't until he became a defense attorney that I saw him again, nearly fifteen years later. In court, no less."

Something perked up in Apollo's mind, memories of a case he'd read about in some newspaper years ago—'Corrupted Prosecutor: Bites the bullet after carrying one for fifteen years', or something equally ridiculous along those lines.

"The von Karma case, right?" the way Miles shifted his gaze in his direction without moving a muscle prompted Apollo to add, "Er…it was all over the papers, if I remember. Something about a prosecutor manipulating people and orchestrating a murder…"

Miles was silent for awhile, before simply stating, "Both Wright and I were involved in that case, yes. But the case I was referring to actually happened about a few months before that."

"You were the defendant for that case though, weren't you? The one with von Karma?"

Miles merely nodded, but otherwise revealed no specific emotion.

"And Mr. Wright, he was…"

"My attorney," Miles finished, and there was a certain undertone in his voice that let Apollo know he was treading on sensitive territory.

Before he could think of something safe and appropriate to say, Miles continued on, "That case…has from that point of my life completely defined who I am. I watched Wright drag up my inner demons—against my own wishes, mind you, he never did learn how to listen—and somehow he managed to overcome them in a way I never could."

Apollo wondered briefly, silently, why Miles was telling him all this.

" I…owe him my life, in every aspect of the concept," the prosecutor then flashed him a look that practically sent shivers down his spine, "Not that I'd ever admit it to him."

Apollo took this look to mean that it was probably in his best interests to not mention it to Phoenix either.

He coughed to ease the tension, "Uh…no offense Mr. Edgeworth, but…I have no idea why you're telling me this…"

Miles' face softened, and in that second Apollo couldn't help but note how _different_ he was from what he had expected. The Miles Edgeworth he had seen in pictures always seemed so exact and calculated, unreachable and distant. But the man standing before him seemed almost…warm, in a weathered sort of way, as if it was the result of years of rigid defrosting, and for a moment Apollo found it a little easier to believe that maybe him and Phoenix were in fact long-time friends.

A small, knowing smile graced Miles' lips, "It's not unlike you and Prosecutor Gavin, is it not?"

Apollo sputtered something unintelligible and Miles thoroughly noticed how the defense attorney straightened and became stiff, "How do you even know about that?"

Miles gestured towards the glass door, "Trucy's worrying about you in there, you know—she told me."

"…It's complicated," Apollo felt like a child caught red-handed in the act of trying to hide something they'd broken.

"He's attracted to you."

And Apollo blanched at this statement, because _geez_, just how much had Trucy told him?

Miles paused, looking thoughtful, "All I'm saying is that you should perhaps try being a little more understanding—Prosecutor Gavin appreciates what you've done for him, and his feelings for you are simply the shape that appreciation has decided to take."

Apollo stood silent, eyes downcast, feeling just a little bit guilty.

_(Well, when you put it __**that**__ way…)_

Miles made to move for the door, apparently satisfied with their conversation, but something tugged at the back of Apollo's mind.

Before he knew it, he was voicing the thought aloud, "Sir!"

Miles stopped his fingers on the catch of the door, "Hm?"

"When you said…what you said about Klavier's feelings being because he appreciates me and all, and…how you can relate to him…does that mean that you and Mr. Wright…?"

It took a moment for the subtext to make itself clear to Miles, but when it did it sparked an immediate reaction, and although Apollo knew he probably shouldn't have, he relished in the fact that for once it wasn't _his_ face filling with color. Miles' face practically _glowed_ like a beacon at this time of night.

"That's—! You're completely mistaken, I—our friendship is merely professional, I assure you."

Apollo had to bite down a laugh as Miles nearly walked into the glass door before remembering he had yet to open it. Apollo followed him inside, watching in amusement as the prosecutor sat down at his seat, clearly still flustered. Phoenix made his way over, looking positively amazed.

"What did you _say_ to him?"

"…nothing."

"Oh come on, I've been trying all night to get a reaction out of him, and I've had years of practice at it. It can't have been 'nothing.'"

"_Wright. Dinner is getting cold_."

And with _that_, it was quite clear that the matter was unquestionably closed.

* * *

><p>Apollo hadn't expected it, but then again, he wasn't surprised by it either. The way Trucy and Gumshoe took to each other was like magic; as far as Gumshoe was concerned, Trucy <em>was<em> magic.

"How'd you make that card go all funny?_!_"

Trucy merely giggled, flipped the card back over, gave it a three-quarter spin, and finally flipped it face-up again, "And now the queen is facing the _other_ way."

Gumshoe eagerly pressed his back into his seat and brought his hands together, applause like thunder sounding between his broad palms.

"Sir. Sir, did you _see_ that? How does she do it?_!_"

Miles pointed a finger in Gumshoe's general direction, a gesture he'd used many times before in court, only this time it was accentuated by his dinner fork, "It's just a sleight of hand."

"Mr. Edgeworth!" a familiar confidence crossed Trucy's face, and both Apollo and Phoenix recognized the glint in her eyes as the same sparkle she got whenever she talked about magic, "I assure you these are cheap party tricks compared to my _real_ performances."

"Hmm. You certainly seem…zealous about it."

"I'm gonna be the next Gramarye sensation, just you wait and see!"

Trucy practically _radiated _enthusiasm. It made Miles have to squint to look at her. Gumshoe was of course acting as if it were contagious.

"I'll make sure to go to all your shows, if I can! Imagine, I'll know the next Gra-mah-mer-ie! Ha!"

"That's Gramarye!" Trucy gave a firm, but still clearly enthusiastic nod.

"Ah. Sorry. Gra-man-o-war."

At least he'd given it a shot.

"Geez, who'd have thought someone as cute as you could be Wright's daughter."

Phoenix immediately had a response to this, mouth still full of potato, "Wha's _tha' _supposta mean?" he took a moment to swallow, "Besides, Trucy's adopted anyway, so her cuteness has nothing to do with me. So there."

Apollo caught Miles' eye and realized that he was just as embarrassed by this as Apollo was.

In some way though, this felt…nice. Apollo looked around the table and took in the smiling faces, watched as Miles countered Phoenix's latest less-than-stellar argument with a swiftness that indicated that this was the accustomed norm.

All throughout dinner, he frequently stole glances back and forth between the two, looking for signs of…well, he wasn't quite sure what, really. Here was Miles Edgeworth, a prolific law official trading witty banter with a washed out has-been who could barely make ends meet. Sure, Phoenix had been considered the best of the best in his hey-day, and there was also the fact that his name had recently been cleared, but _something _had to have kept them in contact during the in-between.

Various memories of Phoenix swam into Apollo's focus, of the Phoenix Wright of his youth, the one he had fashioned in his mind as a hero for himself when he was still living at the orphanage. Like Miles, the real deal had been _so_ much more different than what he had expected. For one, the actual Phoenix was much less straightforward, more aloof and just a little full of himself—the cynicism had also been a surprise.

Apollo looked back over at Miles and saw the same warmth from earlier in his smile, and he wondered just how much these two had rubbed off on each other in the last seven years.

He vaguely wondered why he himself didn't have someone like that that he could trust.

* * *

><p>Apollo dialed the number for what felt like the hundredth time, and resolved to make it past the fourth iteration of the dial tone this time. He nearly instinctively hung up when someone finally answered, but managed to bite down on his lip and grip the handset tighter.<p>

"…Klavier?"

"…This is the prosecutor speaking."

The way his voice sounded short, not angry but rather cautious, told Apollo that he didn't need to introduce himself. And then a panic surged though him, because _holy shit_, there was no backing out _now_, and _(Dammit Justice, just say it.)_

He took a deep breath, "I'd like to take you up on that offer for dinner."

There was a moment of silence that followed and Apollo's heart dropped like a stone.

He stammered a weak follow up, "Th-that is, if the offer's still available, of course…"

He could feel his pulse pounding, and he stood trying to think of some excuse he could give, some way he could write this off and not look like a fool, all the while berating himself for having ever thought of such a stupid—

"Is six o'clock fine?"

Apollo's stomach flipped and he answered before he could even register the response, "Y-yes! Fine! That's totally fine!"

"That's good," he noted that the spirit seemed to have returned to Klavier's voice, "I'll pick you up then…Herr Forehead."

And then it was the sound of the dial tone, and—as Apollo stood stunned at what had just happened—it was all he heard for several minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

I was in Okinawa for a week and couldn't type this up until just now, so sorry that it's a little late. The good news however, is that during that week I managed to write two whole chapters! So you should be seeing another update pretty soon, as soon as I proofread it.

* * *

><p>Today was Tuesday, and he wasn't working on a case, which meant that Apollo had plans for the day. Or at least, that had been the case until Ema had called.<p>

"Oi, I'm coming over in ten minutes, don't go anywhere."

"Ema, I was just about to leave the office for the day."

"It'll only be for a few minutes, I just need to drop something off."

Apollo sighed and put his briefcase back on the desk, "What is it?"

"It's that…_thing_ you were wearing the other day," Apollo grimaced, "I don't know why Klavier doesn't just give it to you himself on your date."

He made a choked sort of noise, "My _what_? Who told you—"

"Don't even try to deny it—he's had the most disgusting smile on his face all day—it's the one he gets when he has a date, and he told me himself you two were having dinner."

"Ema, you can't seriously think that _Klavier and I_ are…"

"I know, I can't believe it. I could've sworn you were straight. I made a bet with Trucy and everything."

Apollo's shoulders sagged, "I _am_ straight."

"Well anyway, at least people will stop thinking him and _I_ are going out."

"Ema _no_, this is all baseless conjecture, you can't let this spread around, we're _not_ going out!_!_"

"Whatever, Klavier should be doing his own errands anyway and I don't have time for this. I'm coming over."

"Ema, wait—"

_Click._

* * *

><p>"It's not a date."<p>

Ema gave him one of her classic '_I don't give a damn_' looks, "Uh-huh."

"It's _not_, it's just dinner."

MUNCHMUNCHMUNCHMUNCHMUNCH.

"Ema!"

"Look, you can still technically call it dinner all you like, but that doesn't make it any less of a date."

"_It's not a date_."

She sighed, obviously not trying very hard to seem concerned.

_(Sure, fine, __**whatever**__. Be in denial.)_

"Okay, it's not a date," she leisurely popped another Snackoo into her mouth, "But does _he_ know that?"

Apollo opened his mouth to retaliate but then froze, because he realized that this was actually a very _legitimate _question.

"Oh god, I don't know," he said quietly.

"You're not very good at this social interaction stuff, are you?"

"I…" Apollo gaped.

"Aren't you supposed to be a lawyer? Your whole _job_ is supposed to revolve around communication, right?"

"I don't…"

"It's alright, I'm not so great at it either. Of course, that's just because I choose not to be, not because I'm incapable."

"Ema." She looked at him, "_Shut up_."

* * *

><p>Phoenix gave him a <em>look<em>, the kind that involved a quarter turn of the head and said, "_Dinner_? Is it at _his place?_" he paused and gave Apollo a knowing wink, "Who knows, you may not have to do your Chords of Steel exercises in the morning."

"_Oh god_."

The hue of Apollo's face gave off the impression that it wasn't quite sure whether it wanted to showcase a state embarrassment or nauseousness. It was a rather royal shade of purple.

"Oooh, that's a new color for you! Granted, it goes horribly with your vest."

"Mr. Wright, I am not here so you can poke fun at me. Just please make sure Trucy gets that," he pointed to the bundle of cloth he had handed to Phoenix earlier, "I've seen quite enough of it."

"Come on though, you have to admit—you seem to turn red at the drop of a hat," the corners of his lips curled in a way that made Apollo wary, "Or is it just because a certain somebody's been chasing you recently?"

"I'm _leaving_."

He turned towards the door.

"You know, I still think you should give _me_ a chance!" Phoenix called after him.

"Goodbye!"

The door slammed unkindly behind him, and Phoenix chuckled to himself, "He makes it too easy."

* * *

><p>It was Tuesday, he wasn't working on a case, and there were finally no distractions keeping him from his plans for the day. Apollo walked down the hallway, so familiar and nostalgic, until he came upon a worn out mahogany door. Beyond it he could hear a whole range of cacophony, thuds and voices and enthusiastic screams. It brought a smile to his face.<p>

With his heart feeling light, he opened the door and was immediately bathed in the mirthful cries of, "Apollo_!_!_!_"

"Guys, guys! It's Apollo!"

"A-pah-woooh!"

"…polo?"

He hadn't even made it a foot past the door before he was swarmed up to his knees in children. He looked down at the figure at his side, a small girl who had wrapped her arms and legs around his calf.

He smiled warmly at her, "I need that Allie."

She grinned at him.

"Hey! You finally lost that tooth!"

She promptly ran off, squealing happily.

"Allie, watch it! Don't step on Jason's head."

Apollo's ears perked up at the voice behind him. Slowly, he turned around, and the various children attached to his limbs made off to continue playing.

Still in good spirits, he greeted the woman in front of him, her eyes narrowed by her full smile, "Hello…Ms. Hawthorne."

She laughed quietly, "There's no need to be so formal with _me_, Apollo. I haven't been your matron for quite some time now."

And it was true—he'd left the orphanage four years ago, and even then, she'd only arrived two years prior. Two years she had been his matron, two short years filled with kindness and affection, filled with wonderful stories about a remarkable man with a remarkable talent for saving people. It was her stories that inspired him to do something meaningful with his life, and he owed all his hopes and dreams to this one woman—which was why it broke his heart to say what he was about to say.

She started it, "It's been awhile since your last visit."

"I've been…busy."

"I know," she absentmindedly brushed her hand over the head of one of the passing children, "I've been following the papers. I'm so proud of you, Apollo."

"Then you know though, don't you? I…I met him."

She said nothing, only nodded.

"You should go see him."

Her smile was tighter now, sadder, more strained.

"I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

"That's enough, Apollo."

"But, Iris—"

"_Apollo._"

The look she gave him indicated that the notion was out of the question. He bit his lip and remained silent.

She sighed, "It was a long time ago—too long. Anyhow, it would only be a burden to him."

"But you're his friend!"

"That's why it's better this way."

"Why, because he doesn't feel the same way as you?"

She looked away.

"You never said anything, but I…I figured it out."

She breathed out, her expression softening, so tired and weathered, but still so very kind.

She moved a hand to straighten his lapel, the way she used to when he was younger, "You always were so straightforward."

"Nobody leaves home just to look after an out-of-the-way orphanage."

"I'm paying my debt to society."

"But an orphanage?"

"Nobody should be without the love of a parent. I should know."

"An orphanage in _this _part of the city?"

Her hands froze momentarily, but then continued to smooth the fabric over his shoulders, "…Observant. You were always very observant as well. Very, _very_ observant…"

He stilled her hands at the wrists, "_Iris_, you came all this way, you made it a point to stay this close, and you're not even going to talk to him?"

"…it won't work."

"You've never even told him how you feel."

She looked him square in the eye, face stern and resolute, "_It won't work._"

"You don't know that."

Iris shut her eyes, "You don't understand."

He grabbed her by the shoulders, "Try me."

She looked at him, silent, then let out a deep breath, "I will never be able to say how I feel without reminding him of…someone else. Someone who caused him a great deal of pain. I cannot, _will not_ do that to him. We can only ever be friends."

Apollo watched her carefully, noting the way she kept her head held high, how she carried herself in the stance of someone who had made their choice a long time ago and was determined to see it through. It occurred to him that there was more to this than he was aware of, part of the bigger picture he was missing, because fortitude such as this did not just come from nowhere. There were a thousand questions burning at the back of his throat, but for once, he thought before he spoke.

Apollo didn't pretend to understand, but he took one of her hands, so small in his despite her being older, and silently thanked her for at least letting him try.

"Alright, fine. You can only be friends. I still think he'd want to see you."

For a split-second, he thought he saw the smallest of chinks in her resolve, a momentary lapse in breath as the idea warmed itself in her mind, but then it was gone before he even felt the equally short-lived pinch at his wrist.

She brought her other hand to hold his, forming a cocoon around it, "And that is why I cannot bring myself to go—he would never let it be a onetime thing. He would make it a point to keep me in his life, the way he does with everyone important to him."

She paused, and Apollo never thought she had ever looked as much her age as she did at that moment, tired and seasoned, "To be that close to him and yet never able to express how I feel…it is a fate worse than never seeing him."

Neither of them said it, but they both knew that the conversation was unquestionably over.

* * *

><p>It was five after six and he was following Klavier out into the parking lot, and Apollo was nervous, but that pretty much went without saying.<p>

He was aware that he was walking a thin line—all he wanted to do was make up for being a jerk, but he wondered if maybe he was going about it the wrong way. For all he knew, this could only make things worse.

He wasn't leading Klavier on, was he? All he'd done was accept an invitation to eat out—that's all this was, just dinner.

But then, what if this meant more to the prosecutor than Apollo wanted it to mean? What was he supposed to do, call the whole thing off? Apollo ran a million permutations in his mind, all the possible things he could say or do, all the possible outcomes, all of which ended in him being an outright jerk. It just wasn't fair, because Klavier really was a good person who didn't deserve to get his heart broken like this, because no matter what he did, that was exactly how this was going to end.

The only scenario Apollo could think of where this didn't happen involved the words, "Klavier, I feel the same way," and that was _not_ happening, because Apollo was not in the habit of telling lies.

It occurred to him in some part of his mind that Klavier was making idle chit-chat with him, but none of it really registered as the guilt ate away at his thoughts. His gaze was unfocused, and he only barely managed to follow in Klavier's footsteps. When he didn't immediately take the helmet that was offered to him, Klavier spoke up.

"Are you alright, Justice?"

He took the helmet solemnly and stared at it, "…is this a date?"

He said it before he could stop himself. There was a silence as he could feel Klavier's gaze on the top of his bowed head.

"…Did you want it to be?"

The prosecutor's voice was soft, and Apollo lifted his head to see a small, but unexpectant smile.

"No," he said, unable to be anything but honest.

To his relief, Klavier laughed brightly, "That's what I like about you, Justice—always speaking your mind."

Apollo instantly breathed easier, "So it's not a date?"

"It's not a date."

Klavier swung a leg over the seat of his motorcycle. He didn't seem crushed or heartbroken. Apollo hesitated, one more question lingering at the back of his mind.

"And that's alright?"

Klavier strapped his helmet on, looking wistful, not at all in bad spirits, "It's enough."

He motioned for Apollo to sit behind him.

Apollo started, "Oh! Right."

He hoisted himself onto the seat, completely self-conscious of the fact that it wasn't as easy as Klavier had made it look, and that he probably didn't look half as cool as the prosecutor had doing it. He felt awkward once he was properly seated, hands floating at his sides looking for something to hold. There didn't seem to be anything to grab onto, apart from the, er, _obvious_…

Apollo could feel his face heating up.

"Shoulders, Justice."

"Right!" he answered all together too quickly, too loudly.

The heat in his face only rose as Klavier's laughter mixed with the roar of the engine.

* * *

><p>Dinner was actually going quite well. Klavier had taken them to a nice restaurant in the city, not too fancy, where the price was affordable and the bread rolls were free. Perfect for two colleagues sharing a meal together. A voice at the back of his mind told him to leave it alone, to not spoil the nice mood, but he figured he'd have to have this talk at some point or another.<p>

"Klavier…can I ask you something?"

The prosecutor could sense the shift in the atmosphere and straightened, but kept his posture open, "Go ahead."

Apollo cleared his throat, nervous, "About your…feelings," his voice cracked slightly here, "I…well, the thing is…damn, how do I say this…"

Klavier looked at him patiently.

He coughed again, "I want to know—why me?"

Klavier looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so, "Why _not_ you? You saved me, Justice."

Apollo's hands fidgeted at how quick this response was, "Look, I…I'm flattered, really, but—"

He was cut off when Klavier placed a hand over his, "I understand. You have made your feelings quite clear already."

Apollo blinked and very nearly said something unintelligible, given that his mind had completely blanked out, but the sound got trapped in his throat. Klavier could feel the defense attorney's sudden stiffness and immediately retracted his hand.

"I am sorry."

"I…" he faltered as the gears in his head started turning again.

Then it hit him and he realized what he was doing, what this _looked_ like, and his mouth opened, "Wait, no, it's fine, I was just surprised," he extended his hand, "Really, it's fine."

He fought the urge to turn away and blush, made himself look Klavier in the eye. The prosecutor was silent, still wary, and then Apollo inhaled deeply because he _recognized_ that expression—he had seen it earlier that day, after all.

_(It is a fate worse than never seeing him.)_

"Klavier, please," he made sure to say it firmly and confidently, "You don't have to be afraid of me," then softer, "I really want us to be friends."

There was another second of silence, but then Klavier's hand met with Apollo's, and they both thought that maybe, _surely_ this could work.

Klavier smiled and smoothed his thumb over the other's knuckles, "You're too good to me, Justice."

A shiver went up Apollo's spine, and he was surprised to find that he didn't know if this was a good or bad thing.

He thought about whether or not this should worry him.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you everyone who has left a review. No really, _thank you so much_.

I know I always say that I'm grateful if people just read my stuff, and that's still true, but I won't lie—every time I see a new review, knowing that someone enjoyed something I made inspires me and it actually helps me write more.

SO HERE IS YOUR CHAPTER, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. ;w;

* * *

><p>"Polly, that was the lamest date <em>ever<em>. Are you telling me he didn't even kiss you?"

Apollo rubbed at his temples, "Why do I even bother correcting people at this point?"

It wasn't even mid-day, Trucy was raring to continue fitting the costume, and it was all Apollo could do to thank the heavens above that there was actual _work_ to do.

"Trucy, you consider yourself my assistant, right?"

She bounced on her feet, "Yup! Anything you need me to do, I'll do it!"

He gathered some papers, "Great! I need to head over to the courthouse to find out who's prosecuting this case. Can you do some paperwork while I'm gone?"

He handed her the stack.

She glanced excitedly at the top page, "No problem, I've got…wait, this looks like…," she flipped through the pages, "Polly, this is my math homework!"

He picked up his suitcase and headed out the door, "Exactly!"

* * *

><p>It felt <em>great<em> to be back in court. Well, technically he was at the information desk, not the actual court, but he was in the building, so close enough. He watched the girl behind the desk look through a self of binders, looking ill at ease and disoriented.

"Right, so…c-case AK-4. That would be…"

After a minute or so of running her hands across the spines, she pulled a thin, white binder down and opened it.

"Um…," she flipped through hurriedly, "…"

She reached the end and then stopped. Her gaze lifted slowly until it was level with Apollo's. "You're new, aren't you?" he did his best to sound friendly.

She nodded timidly.

He pointed at a completely different shelf, "Current cases are in that binder over there."

"Thank you!" she grabbed it immediately, "Let me seen then, AK-4…um, the person working on that case is Apollo Justice."

"I'm Apollo Justice. I need to know who the prosecutor is."

"Oh! I'm sorry!_!_"

"It's okay, I'm not in a hurry."

"…Um, I'm not sure how to pronounce this, it looks…German, maybe?"

Apollo's eyebrows rose, "Let me see."

She showed him the page.

_(Franziska von Karma? Huh. I've heard rumors about her.)_

He found out later, _painfully_ so, that the rumors were very much true.

* * *

><p>Apollo sucked in a breath through his teeth, making the air hiss, "That stings."<p>

"Sit still then, you big baby," Ema swiped the alcoholic prep pad a few more times over the slight gash on his forehead.

"How is that woman still practicing law?_!_"

"_You_ try suing her; see what she does to you then."

"…good point."

It was quiet while she applied the band-aid.

"…You're not going to ask how my dinner with Klavier went?"

She peeled the final adhesive and pressed the band-aid down, "None of my business."

There was a slight undertone of, _(Don't care) _in her voice.

Ema casually did her business of putting away the first-aid kit while Apollo just sat there for a bit, thinking.

"…Ema?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>And so this was how it went—pretty normal, or at least, whatever normal had been before the night of Kristoph's trial. At least the stress in his life was coming from the bizarre clientele the city had to offer, and not from his personal life.<p>

Klavier seemed to be doing fine—he performed in court the same way he always had, with a sharp tongue and without pulling any punches, for which Apollo was extremely grateful. Never before had he thought he'd be relieved to hear Klavier shamelessly teasing him for his logical reasoning in public court—it was still embarrassing, but it was blessedly _normal_.

Of course, not everything was quite like it used to be.

Sometimes, whenever it struck his fancy—which was a lot more than Apollo liked to admit—he would just grab Apollo by the hand, often without comment or even in mid-sentence, and he'd just _hold_ it.

Sometimes, usually when Apollo was explaining some document, he'd just latch onto the attorney from behind, put his arms around his waist and his head on his shoulder and read along with him.

And sometimes, on the rare occasion that Klavier felt daring enough and Apollo was particularly in the mood to allow it, if they were alone—only _ever_ when they were alone—he'd put his head on Apollo's lap and just _lie_ there, silent and content.

And Apollo, without too much complaint, _let_ him.

He let Klavier do these things, partly because every now and then a flicker of Iris would cross his mind, and he'd figure that Klavier deserved at least this much. Mostly though, he let Klavier do these things because whenever it was too much, if Klavier touched just a _little_ too far, Apollo would tell him to stop—and Klavier _listened_.

* * *

><p>The first time it was said, Apollo was going over files pertaining to a case they were both working on. They were in Klavier's office, and he was looking over a list of the defendant's recent bank account figures. He could feel Klavier looking at him, but this in itself wasn't what made him look up, because by this point he was used to it. No, what made him look up was the <em>way<em> Klavier looked at him—he could feel an extra sort of pull, a sort of silent, _(Look at me)_ printing itself on the back of his neck.

Klavier was sitting across the room at his desk, head resting against his hand. The pile of papers in front of him had clearly remained untouched.

Apollo cleared his throat, "Yes?"

Klavier just smiled, looking positively happy about something, but said nothing. Apollo shrugged his shoulders and returned to the files in his hand, but that same tugging pull brought his gaze back to the prosecutor.

He hadn't moved.

"What?" he sound slightly exasperated.

Klavier hummed contentedly, "I really want to kiss you."

Apollo dearly hoped that Klavier couldn't see the color of his face through the case files.

"…duly noted."

Only it came out squeaky and he cursed Klavier for laughing.

* * *

><p>The second time it was said, they were standing in line waiting for coffee. Klavier motioned for Apollo to come closer and when he did the prosecutor leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I want to kiss you right now."<p>

Apollo straightened his tie and looked around embarrassed, "We're kind of in public…"

Klavier looked delighted, "Which means if we weren't…?"

Apollo nearly pulled too tight and choked himself. Thankfully, the line moved forward and he busied himself with placing an order instead of responding.

* * *

><p>He didn't actually say it the third time around. Apollo was brushing his teeth when he heard his cell phone going off in its charger. Toothbrush still in his mouth, he flipped his phone open to see a text from Klavier.<p>

_I might kiss you tomorrow, just so you know._

Apollo's toothbrush stopped mid-stroke and for a moment he was afraid his heart had stopped.

Well, on the bright side, at least he'd been given a warning in advance this time.

* * *

><p>Apollo was pacing back and forth in the defense lobby, because <em>damn<em> if Klavier wasn't hard to read during court. When he caught his client watching him nervously, he immediately stopped.

_(Focus, Apollo, this is your __**job**__. You can worry about that later.)_

"Mr. Justice, things aren't looking so good, are they?"

He rubbed at his eyes, "No, no, don't worry, I'll be looking into the issue of where the money went later today. As long as we can prove you didn't handle any of the fake bills, we can clear your name tomorrow."

"Really?"

Apollo made it a point to smile, something Phoenix had taught him was important, "Really."

His client looked relieved, "Alright, I'll take your word for it. See you tomorrow then, I guess."

Apollo waved goodbye as his client left, then went to go gather his belongings. It had been such a long day, and it was still far from over.

When he heard the door creak open again, he continued packing his briefcase without glancing at who had opened it, "Did you forget something?"

"I just wanted to check up on you."

Apollo immediately stopped when he recognized the voice and turned towards the door, "Oh. Hey, I didn't know it was you."

He tried to stay calm and collected, but as Klavier closed the door behind him he involuntarily gulped.

"You were pretty good out there today, Justice."

"Th-thanks."

"You didn't even flinch when I made fun of you for staring down the judge."

Apollo laughed nervously, but otherwise didn't know what to say.

Klavier stepped forward, "But you did seem a little distracted. Anything on your mind?"

Apollo could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as Klavier settled right in front of him.

He did his best to not break eye contact, although it was hard at this distance, "N-nothing in particular, no. Anything on yours…?"

He felt Klavier tip his chin up and rest a thumb on his lower lip, "Just one."

There were about two things going through Apollo's mind—one was a low, continuous tone, empty and sharp, like a television broadcast being cut off. The second was the rapid repetition of a highly offensive expletive.

He somehow managed to stumble over a sentence, "About…that," because even without it being said it was clear what Klavier wanted, "You realize that not once have I said yes, right?"

Klavier hummed in acknowledgement and softly brushed his thumb over Apollo's mouth. It was the first time the defense attorney had to consciously tell his legs to keep straight.

"S-so then why do you keep bringing it up?"

"Because you have yet to say no."

Apollo's heart jumped into this throat, because that was an excellent point, and all of a sudden he was very afraid, because even now he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was afraid because he understood what would happen, how things would change if he didn't stop this immediately. It absolutely _terrified _him that this should've been a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer, and yet he had somehow been rendered incapable of anything even a single syllable long.

So when Klavier moved his hands to his shoulders and leaned forward, Apollo could only shut his eyes tight, as if bracing himself for sudden impact.

All things considered, he had expected the kiss to be…well, based on his past experience, more aggressive. Instead it was soft, gentle, nothing at all like the first two times.

Furthermore, he had expected it to be on the mouth, not the cheek.

Apollo blinked his eyes open in surprise as Klavier pulled away, slow and purposeful.

There was the slightest of grins on his face, "See you in court tomorrow."

Without another word, he turned and left Apollo standing in the middle of the room with his hand on his cheek and wearing the blankest of expressions. After a moment, all he was able to say was a single syllable.

"_Shit_."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I am no scientist. I know nothing. I do know however, that while carbon dating doesn't really work on metal, I've heard it's possible with certain irons. Of course, if I heard wrong, feel free to shoot me, because again, I'm no scientist.

_And bless Klavier and his law-themed, punny song titles._

That's all I have to say.

* * *

><p>Apollo figured things were pretty bad when it got to the point where he was asking a fifteen year old girl for relationship advice. To Trucy's credit though, she was at least eager and optimistic—at least she was trying.<p>

She had found him in his office, face down on the couch, and all together emitting a gloomy sort of energy into the room. He had told her he'd be fine, but after ten minutes of her insisting she could help, he decided it would be easier to just give in and not argue.

"A few days ago, Klavier kissed me."

Trucy looked at him incredulously, "That's _it_?" then looked utterly beside herself with giddiness, "Did you kiss him back?"

Apollo groaned, "_No_. For the last time, we are _not_ going out."

She frowned, "But…I see you guys hugging all the time…"

"You see _Klavier_ hugging _me_."

Trucy was tapping her chin softly at this point, "Polly, I don't understand. If you don't want to date him, why do you let him do all that stuff to you?"

Apollo thought very carefully about how to word what he wanted to say, which was a rare feat, considering his usual forward style.

"…I don't want him to feel like he can't be honest with me—I don't want to ignore the fact that he actually has these feelings. He shouldn't have to censor himself around me."

He could see gears turning in Trucy's head, but slowly, and quite possibly in the wrong direction.

"But it's just…certain things. I made it very clear that we're just friends," he added for clarity.

She crossed her arms and looked at him in a way that made him very uncomfortable, like he was being scrutinized under a magnifying lens. This went on for a good few seconds, with Trucy tapping her foot and biting her lip as she worked out the details in her head.

Finally, she verbalized her thoughts, "So let me get this straight—you don't want to cut Klavier out completely from your life?"

Apollo nodded.

"And you don't want to be all cold and unfeeling and completely squash his feelings either?"

"That sounds about right."

"But you also only want to be just friends?"

"Yes! That's it! That's exactly it!"

Trucy paused, as if for dramatic effect, then puffed her cheeks and blew out the excess air, "Polly, I'm not sure you can have all those things."

He buried his head into the couch cushions, "_I can try_."

Trucy bent down and folded her arms on the couch beside Apollo's head, then placed her own head on top of them, "I know you're trying. You're a good guy, one of the best I know—I know you're trying your best not to hurt anyone. _But—_"

And here Apollo turned his head, still lying on his stomach, and noted a concentrated seriousness in Trucy's eyes, a fortitude he recognized from the one time he'd seen Phoenix in court.

She continued, "Everybody gets hurt, and sometimes it's nobody's fault. And sometimes it's not our fault, but we always inevitably hurt someone. Sometimes all we can do is make the choices that hurt the least."

He lifted himself, eyes wide with surprise, "Trucy. That's _depressing_."

He didn't deny that it made _sense_—what shocked him was that it was _Trucy_ who said it, cute, cheerful Trucy, who never said anything that wasn't nonsensical.

"But it's true—I don't blame my Daddies for some of the things they've had to do. Things just happen sometimes."

Apollo found himself suddenly feeling very small as he looked at Trucy, saw the full eyes of what wasn't sorrow, but understanding—certainly not happy, but a sort of peace that was only highlighted by the young features of her face. Fifteen and so young—and already so grown up. He silently told himself that he really should've appreciated her more, considering the things she'd been through.

He said quietly, "Well what else am I supposed to do? I thought I _was_ being as considerate as possible."

Trucy's head tilted and her eyes shifted up to the ceiling in thought, "…you could try dating him."

"I'm not a _liar_ Trucy. That's worse than flat out ignoring him," he stretched out on the couch and covered his face with his hands, "It'd be different if I actually _felt_ anything for him, but I don't."

Trucy dared a small smile, "Not even a little bit?"

To Apollo's complete surprise, he felt a pinch at his wrist. He sat up, glanced at his bracelet, then glanced at Trucy—mischievous smile, yes, but dishonest? Not that he could see.

_(Ok, weird...but whatever.)_

He dismissed it, "...No. Not even a little bit."

The smile grew bigger, and Trucy's eyebrows raised teasingly, "The teensiest, eesiest bit?"

He rolled his eyes, "Nothing, not even an inkling."

Again, there was the vibration, the feeling of metal lightly squeezing against his skin. He looked at Trucy, really _looked_ at her, trying to perceive something out of place, but something felt off and strange, as if he knew what he was looking for, but was looking in all the wrong places. Trucy hadn't said anything weird, just asked questions, and questions were hardly truths _or_ lies, just inquiries.

She gave him a funny look, obviously unnerved, "Are you okay? You're doing that...thing."

"What thing?" he asked, still staring.

"That...that _thing_. The one you do in court, where you stare down the witness."

Apollo blinked, "Is it that obvious?"

Trucy nodded, "It's kind of scary, being on the receiving end. I mean, I didn't do anything!"

Apollo swallowed and unfurrowed his brow, "Nothing, it's...nothing," he tried to relax, "I don't have feelings for Klavier."

Two times was just an unnerving happenstance, but when he felt his bracelet tightening around his wrist for the third time, Apollo knew it wasn't just a coincidence.

Carefully, he slipped the bracelet off and examined it. The skin underneath felt cool and exposed in the air.

Trucy regarded it with a sparkle in her eye, "Can I try it on?"

Apollo held it up to the light, trying to discern anything out of place, "Not right now. I'm...," he paused, realizing how far-fetched a lie-detecting bracelet sounded, and said, "I'm looking for something."

"Like what? It's just a bracelet; I see you fiddling with it in court all the time."

Before he knew it, Trucy had snatched it from his hands and was holding it up to her face.

"Trucy, give that back!"

"Look at these markings! It's so intricate!"

"_Trucy..._"

She guided a hand through the opening, "I just want to see how it looks on me."

It was a little too big for her wrist, and hung delicately as she moved her arm into various positions, admiring it from different angles.

"It's beautiful on you. Now can I _please_ have it back?" Apollo sounded a little testy.

He'd never really liked letting other people handle his bracelet.

Trucy's eyes grew wide, "Hold on, I think it's...I think it's _shrinking_."

"It's _what_?"

Apollo looked at her arm and saw, to his amazement, that she was correct—the bracelet was, slowly but surely, growing smaller and smaller.

"This is amazing Polly!" she exclaimed as the metal hugged gently against her skin, "It's like one-size-fits-all! Where'd you get this?_!_"

"I've had it since I was dropped off at the orphanage," he rubbed at his bare wrist, feeling almost naked without the familiar pressure.

"What else does it do?_!_"

He hesitated, but then thought, _(Sure, why not?)_ because this was _Trucy_, and he had no reason to hide anything from her.

"...I can use it to tell when people are lying in court."

It really shouldn't have surprised him when she believed him whole-heartedly, "Really?_!_ I wanna try it! Go ahead, tell me a lie!"

He sighed, "Like what?"

"Tell me you feel nothing for Klavier," she was bouncing with excitement.

"But I don't!"

To his horror, she began jumping up and down, yelling, "There it is! I feel it, I feel it!"

She then dramatically pointed a finger in his direction.

"_Gotcha!_"

He put a hand to his forehead, "Got _what_?"

She shrugged, "I don't know, that's what you always say."

* * *

><p>Ema, in her enthusiasm, was lit up like a Christmas tree.<p>

Literally, there was a flashing device strapped to her head—a spotlight shown down from it and illuminated the surface of Apollo's bracelet, which Ema was currently scrutinizing.

"This is like no material I've ever seen," she said, completely in her element.

Apollo looked on nervously, "Please be careful, Ema."

She gave no indication she'd heard him, "I want to do a carbon dating test."

She put the bracelet on and watched it carefully as it shrunk, glancing periodically at the timer on the desk.

"H-how does carbon dating work?"

Ema tapped at the metal thoughtfully.

"…Ema?" he tried again.

When she didn't respond, Trucy offered, "I think it involves melting a piece of the metal down."

Apollo did not take kindly to this, "Ema, you are _not_ melting my bracelet."

If Ema heard him, she certainly didn't care—in fact, she got up, wrist still at eye level, and went to jot something on the white board—'Reacts to heat.'

At this point, Apollo began shifting from one foot to the other, restless. Ema had always been rather insular, paying attention only to anything in her immediate scope of interest—currently this exclusively contained the single connection he had to his past. Needless to say, it was frustrating being excluded from that sphere of awareness.

"Ema!_!_"

She underlined what she'd written, then turned to Apollo, face oblivious to the fact that he'd been trying to catch her attention for the past five minutes, "So what you're telling me is that you've been using this as a sort of lie detector?"

Apollo thrust his palm over his face and groaned.

Trucy was in a better mood to answer, "Did you figure out how it works?"

"I have a preliminary theory," she slid the device off her head, "The material is incredibly reactive to heat. The rate at which it shrinks suggests that even the slightest change will result in a reaction—like, say, the palpitations of someone telling a lie."

"So it _is_ a lie detector!" Trucy exclaimed.

Ema waved her hand casually, "Indirectly, I suppose, yes."

Apollo rubbed at his chin, relieved to _finally_ be getting somewhere, "Wait, that doesn't make sense. By those stipulations, shouldn't it—"

"Exactly," Ema pushed at the corner of her glasses, "this should really only work as a _personal_ lie detector. So if I say, for example, that you have no feelings for Klavier…"

"Which I _don't_," Apollo insisted, but as always, it fell on deaf ears.

"As expected, the bracelet vibrates in reaction," she tapped it once again as indication, "Oh, this is just _fascinating_…"

This was clearly the most interest she'd expressed in _anything_ in a long time.

She waited for the bracelet to quiet, "But see, if _Trucy_ were to say a lie—"

"Apollo has no feelings for Klavier!" Trucy immediately piped up.

Apollo felt about ready to cry, "Could you _please_ stop using that as the test?"

Ema continued, as self-focused as ever, "There, you see? No reaction."

"But Ema, that can't be right. I've used it several times before to catch people in lies. Are you telling me I just imagined it?"

Trucy added, "I felt it too!"

"Then logically there must be some external factors concerning you two, not the bracelet itself," she looked them both over slowly, suddenly very thoughtful, and muttered, "I wonder…"

Apollo, suddenly struck by the image of Ema hooking him up to a series of cables, went and manually pulled the bracelet off of her wrist, because just asking for it had obviously not worked for the past few hours, "Okay, that was interesting. Thanks for explaining that to us."

"I'm not done with that!" she pouted, upset at having her new toy taken away, "Oh, whatever, I can still ask you questions."

Apollo put his bracelet back on, happy to have the accustomed weight back, "Such as…?"

Ema pulled her notebook out of her bag, "For starters, you've only ever felt it react to others—you've never made it react yourself?"

It slowly dawned on Apollo all the implications this caused, "Not really, no…just the one time, recently."

"Guess that makes you a pretty honest guy—how nice for you," she mused as she wrote something down, "So what was it that finally made it react?"

Trucy suddenly looked very devious, "Klavier did something to him."

"…I didn't need to know that."

"It wasn't like that!" Apollo quickly amended.

"Okay," she began writing again, "so the bracelet reacted to a state of excitement—"

"No, no, no, no, _no._ I wasn't even _with_ Klavier when it happened!"

If Apollo had to make a list of Trucy's more endearing traits, the way she was giggling like a gossiping school girl would definitely not have been on it.

He tried to calm down, "Trucy and I were just…talking about…stuff."

Ema's visage was buried beneath the top of her notebook as she scribbled whatever the hell it was she was writing. Apollo didn't want to think about it too much.

"And just what exactly did you lie about?"

"I—"Apollo quickly began, but the air in his lungs quickly evaporated, and the blood rushed to his face.

He tried again, but for all his Steel Chord exercises did to help him, he couldn't seem to reach a decibel level above meek, "I-it wasn't a lie…"

"Psh," Trucy rolled her eyes, "He won't admit his love for Klavier."

The pencil stopped moving, "…I thought we were just joking about that earlier."

"We were!" Apollo knew this sounded lame, but he couldn't help it.

Ema turned very seriously to face Apollo, and the look she gave him actually made him cringe a little inside, "Alright, you listen here. I don't care about the details—you don't have to update me on dates, or gifts, or any of that shit, because I honestly _don't care. _I don't even give a damn if you don't date him or not—just none of this in-between, maybe, maybe not crap. You either make it very, _very_ clear that there is no hope for him romantically, or you suck it up and admit your big, gay crush on Klavier like a man."

Apollo stared, just a little fearful for his well-being, "…I didn't know you cared so much."

"You're damn right I care. That is my boss you're tiptoeing around, and if you screw things up and make him all depressed and mopey, then I am facing _at least_ a month's worth of hell, and I refuse to come into work while he sulks around composing sad songs like 'Hot for Justice'—"

"_What._"

"—and re-covering 'Guilty Love' in a minor key. It will sound _awful_ in a minor key."

"Come on Polly, you're an honest guy," Trucy pleaded with wide eyes, "Why can't you be honest about this?"

Apollo opened his mouth to object, to deny, to say _something_ about how he was being perfectly honest with himself, when an all-together familiar shudder around his wrist made him stop.

And _that's_ when the bomb dropped, because damn if anyone was going to call him a liar.

"I…might be a little…_curious_," he looked at the girls' smiling faces, and then quickly added, "Just a little!"

"So ask him out on a proper date already!" Trucy was just _brimming_ from ear to ear.

"I can't just…" Apollo strained for the right words, "Look, I'll admit I've thought about it, alright? But that's just…just _curiosity_. What if we start dating and that's not enough? What if I don't like it and I get his hopes up for nothing?"

"Klavier's a big boy, Apollo, he can handle it," Ema teased a strand of hair absent-mindedly while Trucy nodded enthusiastically.

"I really, _really_ don't want to hurt him, Ema."

"And _that_," she smiled wryly, crossing her arms, "sounds as good as any confession to _me_."

Apollo had nothing to say to this.

Trucy, however, did, "Five bucks Ema. _Five bucks_."


	8. Chapter 8

I'm actually nervous about this chapter, but I'm not sure why. D:

Possibly because I wrote a good chunk of it at 4 in the morning. O_O

* * *

><p>Apollo was currently facing a dilemma—namely, how to ask Klavier out.<p>

He thought maybe doing it over the phone would spare him the embarrassment of letting Klavier watch his face fill up with color, but as soon as the prosecutor had picked up, in his nervousness Apollo had instinctively slammed his cell-phone shut.

He later reflected that this was a pretty wimpy way to ask someone out anyway.

"What's wrong you?" Trucy had scolded him, "You know he's not going to say no."

And although Apollo hadn't given her the pleasure of admitting it, he knew she had a point, so just _why_ was this so nerve-wracking?

_(Because surely there's a better way to go about this?)_

_(Because I don't know what I'm doing.)_

_(Because it will change __**everything**__.)_

"Because you're nothing but a big chicken Polly, _that's why_," Trucy had stared at him, hands firmly on her hips, "Am I really going to have to resort to asking him out _for you_?"

"No!" Apollo had panicked, "Please! I have to do this myself!"

"You're eagerness is cute Polly, really, it is, but none of that matters if you don't _actually ask him_."

And so it came to be that Apollo was standing outside the prosecutor's office, giving his nerves a final, internal pep talk. It usually worked better when he braced himself out loud, but he had made his way over on a sort of whim, and it would kind of defeat the purpose of asking Klavier out if he first shouted his plans out in the hallway.

He wasn't even sure what he was going to say yet, but he'd had enough practice in court of sort of making stuff up as he went along, so he figured whatever came out of his mouth wouldn't be _too_ bad. Besides, Apollo hated to confess, but he had just a bit of an impatient personality, and he was sure if he didn't do something about this fast, he was very liable to do or say something proportionately stupid to the amount of time he put this off—or worse, _Trucy_ would do it for him.

He took a breath and moved to knock on the door.

To his surprise, it opened before his fist could even connect with the wood. Beyond it was the genuinely perplexed expression of one Klavier Gavin.

"…Herr Forehead?"

_(This is it Justice! Win him over with your smooth talk!)_

"—wanted to talk with you," he gulped.

Great—half a sentence. All he'd managed was half a sentence.

Klavier didn't exactly seem unenthusiastic about this, but he seemed distracted all the same.

"Ah…," he rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing away thoughtfully, "that's…well, it's fine. I'm just a little busy right now. Perhaps another time?"

"How long will you be busy? Maybe I can accompany you?" Apollo blurted out, afraid that if he let Klavier walk away now, he might not be able to work up his courage a second time.

"I…," it was rare to see Klavier struggling for his words.

Apollo started to feel a sense of apprehension in his stomach, "…Klavier?"

The prosecutor let out a deep breath through his nose, then faced Apollo with complete seriousness, "I'm going to visit my brother."

Instantly, all thought of asking Klavier out fled from the defense attorney's mind.

* * *

><p>All things considered, Klavier was being very generous in letting him tag along. Apollo had genuinely been meaning to visit Kristoph one of these days, because honestly? There were just too many unanswered questions, most of them starting with, <em>(<em>_**Why**__?)_

He had put it off, because there had never been anyone he felt comfortable going with, but the thought of facing his mentor in that dark, cold cell by himself made his stomach turn. He was a little concerned that he was intruding on what Klavier might've wanted to be a private moment between himself and his brother, but Apollo was all too willing to accept the prosecutor's offer to join him.

It was the strangest thing, walking down a hallway made of bars and not walls—even though he knew he was on the _outside _of the cells, it still felt remotely entrapping to be surrounded by all that metal. Rather than have to look at any of the faces leering at them from within the cells, Apollo kept his eyes trained on the broad expanse of Klavier's shoulders.

_(Has he always been this tall compared to me…?)_

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Mr. Big Shot Prosecutor and Lawyer Boy."

Apollo nearly walked right into Klavier when the later stopped moving.

Still looking straight ahead into the hallway, Klavier said quietly, "I'm not here to see you, Daryan."

Apollo's head whipped towards his right. He was surprised see a figure smirking bitterly at them from behind the bars, sitting on his bed and leaning back with his hands smugly behind his head. He was surprised because the man staring back at him was hardly recognizable as the Daryan he remembered—his face was clear of any stage make-up and looked dull and uneven in the poor lighting, he was dressed simply in prison slacks, and most strikingly of all, his hair was limp and pulled back in a messy ponytail.

"Oh yeah? Should've figured—after all, you must be _so busy_ with your _career_ and your _adoring fans_."

"_Daryan,_" Klavier warned.

"It's not like we were friends, or _band mates_, or anything."

Klavier fell silent, still staring straight ahead.

"By the way, how _is_ the gang all doing? I heard we're all broken up—for good. All that talk about 'brothers through thick and thin.' What _bullshit_—you're the one who put me in here."

"We should go, Klavier," Apollo piped up abruptly, pushing gently at the prosecutor's arm.

"You just stood there and let it happen—hell, you _helped_ lawyer boy here do it," Apollo bristled at this, "You left me hanging on that witness stand—this is all your fault."

"Hey!" Apollo barked, his temper rising, "Klavier was just doing what was right! You should try it sometime and take responsibility for your own actions!"

Before he could continue, he felt a hand close over his wrist.

He looked up to see Klavier imploring him to calm down, "Don't let him get to you Justice. His kind of anger and bitterness is contagious."

"You think you're so _righteous_, don't you?"

Daryan had moved from his bed to the edge of his cell.

His hands griped the bars as he sneered, "Let's all look down on the murderer—it's so _easy_ from up on your high horse. Well you know what? You and me? We're the same."

Apollo, despite Klavier's hold on his arm, couldn't help shouting, "He's nothing like you! Take it back!"

"Sure," Daryan leaned back, arrogant smile and all, "When pretty boy here shows any remorse for condemning his own brother to death."

If this line had any effect on Klavier, he did not show it. He merely gripped Apollo's wrist a little tighter and pulled, turning unceremoniously to continue down the hallway without another word. Apollo watched Klavier carefully, how precise his movements were, how each step followed firmly after the other.

He would've believed Klavier hadn't cared at all, if it weren't for the way his bracelet hummed softly against his skin, and how inches above it, Klavier's hand shook to the same, ceaseless rhythm.

Apollo did not dismiss the way it made his chest squeeze and tighten.

* * *

><p>For someone in solitary confinement, Kristoph seemed quite comfy, if the room was anything to go by.<p>

And since there were a million questions swimming around in his head, Apollo figured it was best to get the most trivial ones out of the way first, "It's rather…decorated in here, isn't it?

Kristoph pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Let's just say I still have friends in high places."

Klavier started calmly, "It's been awhile…hasn't it?"

Kristoph shrugged in his seat and continued brushing an emery board against the tips of his nails, "That's not my fault. Honestly, I thought you'd have come here sooner."

His hands stilled for a moment while his eyes shifted up, looking straight at Apollo from over his lenses, "I also imagined you would've come without company. Is that why it's taken you so long to visit me? Too afraid to come on your own?"

Apollo burned under Kristoph's gaze—it was like he was a fresh intern, all over again. He felt split open, like Kristoph was reading his very thoughts.

He quickly suppressed anything that even vaguely resembled, _(I'm currently infatuated with your younger brother.)_

"I-I…I wanted to come, sir," the formal salutation left his mouth automatically, out of an ingrained sense of obligation.

The way Kristoph's lips curled up made Apollo shudder.

"Now, now. There's no need for formalities here—you're hardly my charge anymore."

"Sir—"

"Reserve that title for _Phoenix_. That is who you work for now, and I'll not have you putting me at equal status with that man, is that understood, Justice?"

Apollo flinched, but felt some of the tension slip away when Klavier placed a hand protectively on his shoulder, "You should be thankful, brother, that Justice still has some level of respect for you. There are few who do, nowadays."

Kristoph's eyes slid over towards Apollo again, and it made him want to hang his head, like a child being scolded, "Yes, and we certainly know who to thank for that, don't we?"

Apollo flushed, "Si—Mr. Gavin, I was only doing my job."

Kristoph laughed, threading fingers through impossibly silky strands of hair, "Oh, you don't have to worry—I harbor no resentment in your favor at all, Justice. You were merely a pawn in all of this—your naivety and foolish eagerness to please were the perfect vehicles for Phoenix's ploys. You played right into his hands, like a good little subordinate. I taught you too well, it seems."

Apollo quickly shut his eyes tight against what felt like the onset of tears—he could feel his eyes water, and he fought it with every fiber of his being. It shouldn't have _felt_ like this, like his insides were getting ripped apart and put on display, and Kristoph was the coroner, declaring that he could see nothing of any worth.

He could hear Klavier somewhere next to him, "Stop it Kristoph, you're better than this. This petty bitterness…it's not you at all."

Kristoph continued filing his nails, too calm, too cool and composed, "On the contrary. I assure you this is as me as I've ever been—you'll never find anyone as genuine as a dead man walking."

"Brother…"

Kristoph looked Klavier resolutely in the eye, "I have no brother."

The silence was harder to swallow than anything Klavier could've said in response. Apollo felt Klavier's presence at his side fade away as, fists clenched at his sides and shaking, he walked briskly out of the room. Unsure of himself, he glanced back at Kristoph, not knowing whether or not to stay and say something in response to this development, or to go out and chase after the prosecutor.

When Kristoph continued sitting in his chair as if nothing had happened, tapping his file against the leg of his pants without a drop of remorse in his posture, Apollo promptly chose the latter.

* * *

><p>Klavier hadn't gone too far. As soon as Apollo exited solitary confinement, he spotted him sitting with his back pressed against the hall, head tilted back and eyes closed.<p>

He approached carefully, "Klavier?"

He slowly bent at the knees and crouched down, placing his arms on top of his knees and his chin on top of his arms.

Klavier breathed in heavily, but did not open his eyes, "Justice."

"I'm here," he said softly.

"My best friend. My brother," Apollo listened, offered his presence and nothing more, "They're both gone. They're already dead."

For a moment, all Apollo could do was look at him, watch the way his chest heaved to a laboriously steady rhythm and imagine how it must've felt to walk into work every day and find no one he could really relate to, to come home to an empty house filled with nothing but papers with headlines about Kristoph's impending execution. Nothing, no-one—only casual work acquaintances and people who only knew what they read about him in magazines, and yet still all he had to give were smiles.

"Klavier."

His tone was firm, and when Klavier finally opened his eyes, he made sure that what the prosecutor saw was a set determination and a calm demeanor.

Slowly, genuinely, he said, "You deserve something good in your life."

And when he shifted so that his knees were on the ground, when he leaned in and kissed him, the only thing Apollo regretted was that he hadn't done this sooner.


	9. Chapter 9

Things will be progressing from this point on. Please to be providing any and all feedback please, since some of the upcoming stuff is my first try at writing certain themes. ;D

* * *

><p>"I'm dating a German rock star prosecutor."<p>

Klavier looked up bemusedly from the files he had been reading. Apollo was currently sitting over at the other end of the office, the side of his face laid atop the various papers strewn about the desk, clearly not focusing on his work.

He chuckled, "You're not realizing this for the first time, I hope?"

Apollo chewed on the end of his pencil thoughtfully, "I just wanted to see if it sounded as surreal out loud as it did in my head."

A sly look overtook the prosecutor's face, "Maybe I could…make it seem more real for you, ja?"

Apollo either didn't catch his drift or pretended not to; instead, he took to bobbing the pencil up and down in his mouth, detached from his immediate surroundings. It made a faint tapping noise each time it descended and hit the desk. Klavier watched it with an intense interest—up…down…up…down…

He swallowed.

"Our first kiss was in a _prison_," Apollo mused, legitimately regarding this as something particularly noteworthy and impressive.

Klavier expressed some amusement at this, "I believe I have kissed you plenty of times beforehand."

Apollo sat up and tapped the eraser-end of the pencil against his forehead, looking quite business-like, and said matter-of-factly, "_Our_ first kiss—as in _we_—as in, _mutually consensual_."

Klavier rose out of his chair, with an expression quite full of _intent_, "Let's not think about our _first_ kiss, hmm?"

He quickly crossed over to the other table, flipped the empty chair sitting across from Apollo's side, and promptly straddled it. He crossed his arms and settled them on the edge of the seat's top and flashed the defense attorney his most charming smile. _Few_ had ever been able to resist _this_ one.

Few, including Apollo, it seemed.

Klavier nearly cried out in frustration when the man across from him started see-sawing the pencil between his index and middle finger, unmistakably distracted by his train of thought, "Seriously, is this real? Shit like this just doesn't _happen_."

Klavier tried, one more time, "_Anything_ could happen, Justice."

Apollo sighed and slumped back down onto the desk, "I suppose you're right."

The prosecutor _stared_. What in _heaven's—_why wasn't this working?_!_

He cleared his throat, "_Apollo_."

The defense attorney straightened, quite possibly faster than he intended to, if the blush on his face was anything to go by, "Y-yes?"

Klavier was authentically surprised by the light red dusting over the bridge of Apollo's nose, but quickly chalked this up to an unexpectant, minor victory.

_(Slight innuendo—nothing. Intimate first-name basis, however…)_

He leaned in over the edge of the chair, "I am _trying_ to be seductive," he found it hard not to be captivated by the way Apollo blinked rapidly in surprise, "but you are making it _damn_ near impossible."

Apollo sat still for a moment as Klavier grinned at him, trying to process that, _yes_, Klavier was currently propositioning him for…_something_. He still wasn't quite sure what.

"I…" he began, clumsily, "…wait, what?"

He yelped when he felt a foot brush up against the inside of his calf.

The smile on Klavier's face was _completely _unapologetic, "Blunt it is, then."

He then proceed to lean all the way across and grab the back of Apollo's head before the latter had a chance to let it sink in and object, table between them be damned.

At one point, the door to Klavier's office opened, but then quickly and loudly shut again, making Apollo squeak in protest, but Klavier soon made him forget the fact.

Mysteriously, no one else bothered them for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>They really hadn't been doing anything remotely scandalous when Trucy knocked on the door.<p>

"Polly! Daddy needs those files on the FR-7 case! Open up!"

_Really_, all that had happened was an embarrassed Apollo opening a drawer to show off his mediocre store of paper clips and sticky note pads, because Klavier had for some reason _insisted_ on a tour, and there wasn't really anything else in the room to show off. It barely qualified as an office, but on his salary he preferred being able to eat over stocking more than the necessary amount of pens at work.

The situation was as innocuous as it could've possibly been.

This did not stop Apollo from panicking as soon as he heard his assistant knocking.

"Shitshitshit. She can't know you're here," he whispered.

Klavier laughed, but played along and dropped his voice as well, "And why not? It's not like we're doing anything wrong in here."

"Because I will never hear the end of it. She will harass you for every single detail about our relationship, _especially_ the ones that don't exist."

Klavier leaned in suggestively and traced a finger across Apollo's chin, "So why not just give her what she wants?"

"Get under the desk, _now_," said Apollo, undeterred.

Outside, the pounding resumed, "Polly!_!_ I know Klavier's in there! Just tell him to put his pants back on!"

Without thinking, Apollo screeched, "He never took them off!"

Immediately, he clapped his hands over his mouth, face going red.

Klavier laughed again, loudly and freely this time, "Looks like the jig is up, eh, Justice?"

* * *

><p>"And this is Mr. Charley!"<p>

"Oh _please_ don't show him _that_," Apollo groaned.

To his horror, Klavier gently took one of the plant's outstretched stems and sincerely shook it, "It's nice to meet you, Charley."

Apollo gaped, "Don't encourage her."

"Treat the fräuleins and their friends with respect," Klavier smoothly brushed a few strands out of his face, "That's my philosophy."

"You could learn something from Klavier about being a gentleman, Polly!" Trucy puffed her cheeks.

Apollo rolled his eyes, "Alright, alright, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Mr. Charley!"

"And how am I supposed to apologize to a plant?"

Trucy rocked back and forth on her hells, "I don't know. Just say sorry like a normal person…?"

She then lightly smacked a curled up fist down onto her palm, an idea striking her, "If you _really_ want to show you're sorry, you should sing him a song! He likes that!"

Apollo noticed the sudden glint in Klavier's eye and immediately objected, waving his hands in front of his face, "Trust me, you don't want to hear me sing."

"Oh, I think I do," Klavier put his hands on his hips and learned forward, "Time to show off these so called Chords of Steel."

"That's not…they're not really suited for…" but Klavier was already clearing the junk off the piano.

He pressed a key experimentally, "My goodness, this needs a good tuning."

"Daddy doesn't really use it all that much," she hopped a bit, excited, "Can you play?"

"Enough to know which key is which," he pressed another key a little further down, "Middle C. That should be easy enough to hit."

Klaiver looked at him expectantly and Apollo flushed, "I don't think you'll like what you hear."

The prosecutor leaned in even closer and Trucy made a sound that sounded like a giggle being suppressed, "Any sound you make, Apollo—I guarantee I won't hate it."

If Apollo had been red before, the blush that graced his features now definitely put it to shame. He looked back and forth between Trucy and the prosecutor, hesitant. Klavier smiled at him patiently, pressing the key once more.

Apollo took a deep breath, letting the note sink in.

Then he opened his mouth and belted.

To be fair, he had expected this sort of reaction, but it still stung a bit when Trucy _immediately _clapped her hands on her ears, "Geez, Polly! You're supposed to sing the note, not _screech_ it."

Apollo looked at his feet, suddenly quiet, "I told you—they're chords of steel, not velvet."

His eyes shifted nervously towards Klavier, but he otherwise remained silent. The prosecutor looked thoughtful, but not at all displeased.

He scratched his chin, "Could certainly use some fine-tuning in regards to tone," Apollo wilted a little, "But excellent breath control and volume."

Apollo felt his chest swell up, "Really?_!_"

"Hey!" Trucy interjected, "Maybe Klavier can teach you! Then you guys could do a duet, or something!"

"I would certainly like that," Klavier said softly, glancing at Apollo in a way that made the defense attorney's stomach flip.

"W-what would I need to do to get better?" he stammered, perhaps a little too loudly, perhaps showing a little more enthusiasm than would have been embarrassing for most people.

His straightforward eagerness only made Klavier all the more enamored with him.

He began, placing a hand on the keys again, "For starters, try singing the note less…forcefully. More finesse, less stress."

Apollo cleared his throat, still markedly nervous, but less so than previously. He breathed in and then exhaled, trying to carry the note as gracefully as he could. It was overall a much more subdued effort than the first.

Klavier sighed, "Justice, what happened to your volume? That was one of the finer points of your last attempt."

Apollo looked sheepishly at the ceiling, "But you said to sing it softer…?"

Klavier shook his head, "Softer, yes, not quieter. You are confusing force and volume as the same thing."

When Apollo merely fiddled with the lowest button on his vest, looking like he wanted clarification but was too afraid to ask at the risk of sounding like an idiot, Klavier chuckled softly to himself. It made him want to take Apollo's hands into his own until they stopped fidgeting.

Hell, Apollo in general, no matter what he did, made it hard for Klavier to keep his hands off of the defense attorney.

"You are creating the sound in your throat—this results in a harsh sound, one that will also tire and hurt your voice," he looked at Apollo with a discerning, reflective expression, "When you do your Chords of Steel exercises, do you often have a sore throat by the end of them?"

Apollo attentively nodded.

"This would be why. You need to sing elsewhere, from a place that doesn't hurt."

"I…wait, what?"

"Singing is a full-body art—you sculpt the sound with your whole body, not just your throat. Try to produce the note from further back."

The defense attorney let out an exasperated sigh and scratched at the back of his neck, "Klavier, let's face it—I'm clearly a lawyer, not a singer. I have no idea what you're talking about."

When Klavier brought both his hands to rest lightly on either side of his jawline, Apollo yelped and nearly jumped back from the touch.

Klavier looked at him seriously, "Here. Try one more time—the sound should vibrate here, under my fingertips."

Apollo had trouble issuing anything coherent from his mouth, let alone something musical, "I…just…um."

He was vaguely aware of a pounding in his chest, and _(Oh god, oh god, he's so close)._

He told himself that this was just because he was a nervous performer, it was just stage fright, _not_ because Klavier was practically close enough to do something about the little distance between them that still remained. It was _not_ because the prosecutor was looking at him with such _faith_ in his eyes, _not_ because Klavier's mouth turning up slightly seemed to be the most fixating thing he'd ever seen, _not_ because he could unmistakably sense the faint scent of Klavier's aftershave, which was actually quite nice, and _shit_, this was not where this thought was supposed to go.

A taunting voice in the back of his head circled back to the original point, _(This isn't stage fright—you've always performed best under pressure)_.

Klavier felt muscles under his fingers move as Apollo gulped. Slowly, the attorney's mouth opened, emitting a low, shaky tone. It was still quieter than Klavier would've liked, but he graciously accounted for Apollo's nervousness and concluded that it was at a good level. Cautiously, his hands left the sides of Apollo's face; one came to rest on his throat instead, where he could feel the bulk of the tone's vibrations.

As smooth as a conductor's movements, his fingers traced their way back up the sides of Apollo's neck, making their way back to his jawline. Apollo instinctively lifted the soft pallet at the back of his throat (he hadn't even known this was _possible_ up until now), following the movements with his voice. His heart beat even faster as he could feel his skin buzzing under Klavier's fingers from the vibrations, almost like a tickle, but it certainly didn't make Apollo want to laugh.

The note died out as he ran out of breath, and he found himself taking short, heavy breathes afterwards, "…Like that?"

Klavier hummed affirmatively, sliding arms smoothly around Apollo's neck and leaning in for what was obviously a kiss, "Mmm, you deserve an award for that, I think, no?"

Apollo timidly pushed at the prosecutor's chest, "Wait, not in front of Truc—"

He stopped when he realized that Trucy was nowhere to be seen, and that it was very much just him and Klavier in the room.

_(…that explains why she's been mysteriously silent this whole time.)_

His attention shifted back as Klavier smiled and said, "You were saying?"

* * *

><p>"Stop peeking Trucy."<p>

Trucy blatantly disregarded this command and continued to watch through the crack in her father's office door, fists held excitedly close to her chest.

"Daddyyyy, why'd you have to go and drag me in here? Why can't I go out and watch them be cute together?"

Phoenix absentmindedly moved a stack of files from one tray to the next as he casually answered his daughter, "Because as fun as it is to tease Apollo, I'm not cruel. He's a defense attorney—Klavier's a prosecutor. Speaking from experience, they should make the most of moments like these, because their schedules will make it hard to find more of them."

"Ooooh," Trucy cooed dramatically, "It's like Romeo and Juliet!"

Phoenix laughed heartily, "Not…exactly. For one, Romeo and Juliet's relationship boiled down to a three day fling and ended in pointless death."

Trucy's eyebrows furrowed, "I don't remember the play being quite that cynical…"

He smiled, "I studied the arts in college," he continued shuffling papers, "Besides, if anything, those two are more like…um, Truce, are you listening?"

"Oh! Oh, they're kissing!"

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the back of his mind, Apollo couldn't help but hear a small voice note how he was probably in the hands of an expert. The man had <em>rock<em> _star _on his resume, and had most likely kissed more than his fair share of girls—at least, it certainly _felt_ like Klavier knew what he was doing. It made Apollo, who suffice to say had never so much as even properly asked a girl out, feel inexperienced and vulnerable.

The way Klavier's fingers brushed at the nape of his neck, the way they slightly rustled the hairs at the base of his head, the way he nipped gently at his lower lip—all of it happening simultaneously sent a shiver through Apollo. Despite himself, he let out a little whimper.

Klavier grinned against the defense attorney's mouth, "I was right. Any sound you make—I like it."

Apollo turned crimson and straightened against Klavier's hold, "That's—! That's not fair!"

Klavier looked at him teasingly, "How so?"

He only managed to sputter in response, "You just—! You can't—!"

The prosecutor tilted his head inquisitively, taking interest in this sudden change of response, "I can't what, Justice?"

Apollo bit his lip in an attempt to not say anything until he was sure he wouldn't trip over his own mouth this time, "You can't be the only one who gets to be all smooth and cool like that."

Klavier's eyes widened a bit in surprise, as did his amusement. A short burst of laughter indicated he hadn't been expecting this, but was still enjoying himself nonetheless. He took a step back and leaned forward, crossing his arms. Apollo felt a sense of foreboding at the way Klavier arched an eyebrow in his direction.

"Alright then," he said, a hint of enticement in his voice, "Give me your best line."

When Apollo merely stared at him for a while longer than was comfortable, Klavier's smile only widened, "Do you…perhaps need a little help?"

"No! I'm…I'm FINE. I can do this."

"You know you don't _have_ to though, ja?"

Apollo breathed in, still very set and determined to prove he could be just as suave and charming as the former rock star. In its own way, Klavier found that this _was_ sort of charming.

He shook his head softly, "Justice, I am already completely captivated by you. What else could you do to impress me?"

Apollo gave it some thought.

He thought hard and pondered on this for a good five seconds before he decided to stop thinking so critically and just go with the first thing that came to mind, no matter how stupid it might be.

"I could do this."

To Klavier's surprise, Apollo placed his hands flat on the prosecutor's chest and pushed, causing him to stumble back and hit the arm of the couch. His back hit the cushions with a soft _thump_, and for the first time since he could remember, he was rendered speechless as Apollo followed suit over the couch arm and crawled on top of him.

"Apollo, this is—" was all he could manage to say before the aforementioned crushed their mouths together.

Not that he was complaining.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Trucy, come away from the door. This is bordering on intrusive."<p>

"Ooooh, it's getting good!"

Phoenix's hand hovered over the paperwork he had been reaching for, "What?"

"Yes! Go, Apollo! You get him!"

Phoenix abruptly stood up, "Just _what_ are they doing out there?"

* * *

><p>Apollo wasn't going to lie—this felt really good.<p>

Really, _really_ good.

There were fingers roughly pushing through his carefully combed hair, and likewise, Apollo was threading his own upward from the hairline of Klavier's neck, letting long, soft strands of hair slide against his skin. This seemed to be to Klavier's liking, because he made an appreciative moan against Apollo's mouth. And then there were hands _everywhere_, and dear lord, Apollo couldn't even tell which were whose anymore.

Somewhere between the feeling of an arm wrapping around his lower back and pulling him closer, and Klavier's knee sliding up and between Apollo's legs, the attorney managed to eke out the thought, _(Oh). _

A second later, this was followed by, (_**Oh**__. Oh my—that's his tongue)._

Apollo was already feeling flushed enough as it was—he could've done without the extra heat flooding into his cheeks. From here, Apollo's train of thought took off at a sprint.

_(Holy shit, __**we're in the office**__.)_

_(Ooooooh, wow, that's—)_

_(!_!_!_!_)_

Apollo felt the arm at his back shift, felt a hand slipping up and under the edge of his vest, gliding over the fabric of his work shirt. He vaguely wondered what would've happened had his shirt not been tucked in.

_(This is—oh god oh god, what am I doing, thisistoofast, __**oh god**__, we need to stop.)_

Accompanied by the deepest breath he'd ever taken in his life, Apollo somehow managed to separate himself from Klavier, fully intending to voice this last thought out loud.

What _actually_ ended up leaving his mouth however, was, "_OW!_!"

This was because on the way up, something flat and heavy simultaneously came down upon the top of his head.

"Not in the office, boys."

Terrified and clutching at the crown of his head, Apollo glanced up to see Phoenix looming over them, an expert's guide to law clutched in his hand. He proceeded to balance the spine on his shoulder as he threw down a look that practically said, "Explain yourselves."

"Mr. Wright! This isn't what it—"

"On the contrary, Mein Forehead," Apollo's gaze shot down angrily to glare at a smirking Klavier, "It's exactly what it looks like."

Apollo sputtered indignantly, "You're no help at all."

Above them, Phoenix sighed, "I understand you want to make nice and be sickeningly passionate about it," Apollo made a sort of protesting, strangled noise at this, "But please keep your hands to yourselves while you're in the office."

Apollo would've thanked the heavens above if that had been the end of it, but then Phoenix suddenly smiled and winked at him, "At least when Trucy's around, anyway."

"Mr. Wright!"

Apollo about wanted to die to save him from the embarrassment.

Phoenix gave by way of explanation, "Well, it's only fair if I have you play by the same rules I do."

From somewhere underneath him, Apollo heard Klavier utter nonchalantly, "That seems fair."

Perhaps due to some defense mechanism against whatever might've been implicated by Phoenix's statement, Apollo's mind went completely blank at this point.

* * *

><p>The two of them were sitting silently, side by side. Klavier was seemingly very pleased with himself, while Apollo's head hung low, still embarrassed at having gotten caught in the office by <em>Phoenix<em> of all people, and even more so knowing that the whole thing was kind of his fault.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, circling his thumbs around each other in his lap.

Klavier laughed loudly and swung an arm around Apollo's shoulders, "What's there to apologize for? That was the most exciting thing that's happened to me all week."

_(Right. About that…)_

Apollo found himself fidgeting uncomfortably, unable to bring up the fact that he'd maybe found it a little _too_ exciting. In the ensuing silence, Klavier's eyes travelled unassumingly down to where Apollo's hands were pulling nervously at a loose thread, and something in his head clicked. A small smile tugged at his lips—Apollo wasn't the only who could spot a nervous tick.

Meaningfully, Klavier rubbed the hand resting on Apollo's shoulder in a comforting manner. The defense attorney meekly glanced up at him and Klavier took this opportunity to place a very soft, very chaste kiss on Apollo's cheek. The skin against his lips warmed.

He spoke gently near Apollo's ear, "Really, it's fine."

Apollo said nothing, just averted his eyes stubbornly before—after a few seconds of responding stiffly to Klavier's touches—gave in and leaned against the prosecutor.

The two remained blissfully unaware that a room over, Trucy was attempting to hold back the squeal of the century.


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter ended up being _really_ long. Long enough that I decided to split it into two chapters.

And now you know why this update took so long! :D

(Please don't kill me…)

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Apollo was a little jittery the next day at work.<p>

He could barely look Phoenix in the eye as he passed him in the reception area; his insular posture and quick, long strides allowed him to imply, rather than actually flat-out say, _(Hello, yes, I'm not ditching work, I'm here, )_.

He made sure to make it into the safety of his office before Phoenix could say anything, but couldn't completely shake off the interested, questioning look the man gave him as he shut the door.

He would have been content to have worked from his office all day, but he currently had no clients, and when Phoenix poked his head into the room insisting that he help him study for the upcoming bar exam, Apollo had to remind himself that it was technically improper to refuse a request from his employer.

"Hand me the EA-3 files, then please cross-reference this list of names against the victim's regular customers."

Apollo silently and awkwardly pulled a binder off of the shelf. When he handed it to Phoenix, the latter noticed the way Apollo's eyes shifted nervously towards the side.

He raised an eyebrow, "Everything alright?"

"_YES_!_!_" Apollo's spine practically popped with how quickly he jerked straight.

Phoenix leaned back in his chair, slightly amused, "Alright, alright. Indoor voice, please, Apollo."

The defense attorney sheepishly handed the documents over. When Phoenix merely smiled as he accepted the papers, Apollo remained wary. He had yet to hear a _peep_ out of his boss about what had happened yesterday—not a single quip, joke, or retort. In fact, he had yet to hear a jab from Phoenix about _anything_ in general, which made Apollo just as tense as anything else.

It was honestly more nerve-wracking than the onslaught of teasing he had been expecting, mostly because he was constantly on edge expecting it, except nothing was being done or said to unwind the tension.

After a moment of intensely considering the files in front of him, Phoenix slowly lifted his head back up, throwing the defense attorney a scrutinizing look, "…Um, Apollo?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

Phoenix frowned, "That cross-reference…?"

Phoenix winced as Apollo, already straight and tense as it was, somehow managed to draw himself up even higher, clutching the papers close to his chest "Oh gosh, I'm sorry! I'll go get that now!"

Phoenix tried very hard not to stare too raptly as Apollo literally spun on the back of one heel to turn towards the door, looking embarrassed as he made his way to reach for the handle.

Phoenix stopped him right as the young man was about to step through the frame, "Sure there isn't anything you want to tell me?"

Apollo looked back at him, mouth twisting and turning in on itself as he chewed through his thoughts.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and for a second Phoenix was reminded of Gumshoe, "Nothing, it's just…well…"

Phoenix just stretched his arms back and placed them behind his head, leaned back and rested a leg on one knee; he didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows and smiled his usual shit-eating grin, exuding a devil-may-care aura across the distance that said _for_ him, _(Well __**what**__?)_

It made Apollo wonder why he had previously been practically running to do errands for the man, and with a grimace he said, "You're not going to say anything about…you know, yesterday?"

Unexpectedly, Phoenix looked genuinely confused, "I thought I already gave you a stern talking to?"

"Well yes, but…I mean…," Apollo went a shade darker, "you're not going to tease me about it?"

And Phoenix actually _laughed _at this point, a short, single syllable of sound and mirth, "Come on—I don't tease you _that_ much."

Apollo's shoulders sagged, "It's my impression that you routinely go out of your way to make my life harder than it needs to be."

"Oooh, _ouch_," the smile on his face clearly indicated Phoenix felt otherwise, "Where's your proof?"

"You bullied me into taking this job."

Phoenix was _almost_ hurt by how quick the response came, but only almost.

"Hey, it's not as if you didn't actually want it."

"You were a _completely _uncooperative witness during my first trial."

"Everybody likes a bit of drama to spice up the courtroom."

"You didn't even have the grace to tell me that I was using _forged evidence_."

"Ah," here Phoenix rubbed at his jaw, as if remembering something painful, but chuckling all the same, "Alright, you got me there. I won't say I didn't deserve that one, either."

Apollo clutched at the papers pressed against his chest, at a loss for words—this was so _weird_. Phoenix was being so…so forthright and, and…had he just let Apollo win an argument?

He cleared his throat, "So why aren't you?"

Phoenix tapped his own stack of papers against the wood of the desk, looking like he was nearly done with this exchange and wanted to get back to his work, "Why aren't I what?"

Apollo pouted, "Teasing me about yesterday?"

Phoenix took a moment to gently place the pile in front of him, even-faced, "Hmmm. Well, as much as I like my hobbies, I'm afraid I'm quite busy at the moment with the bar exam coming up in a week."

Apollo started a bit at this, _(Oh yeah, the exam __**is**__ next week.)_

It had up until this point completely slipped his mind that the exam was so close.

Phoenix casually propped his chin up in his hand and gave him a smile, "Sorry I don't have the time to come up with witty remarks about your sex life."

And then there were just papers everywhere.

Apollo wasn't even sure _how_ he'd managed to fumble the papers he'd been carrying when all he'd been doing was standing still in one spot, but he was grateful that picking them up off the floor gave him an excuse to _not_ respond to this latest statement, because he was pretty sure there wasn't any way to answer it that _wasn't_ embarrassing. He could feel Phoenix watching him with interest, laughing silently.

"R-right," he hugged the papers close to him again, tighter this time, "I'll just…get these looked at."

Phoenix said warmly, "Yes, you do that."

Apollo coughed and headed clumsily towards the door, trying to avoid eye-contact. Well, that had certainly filled his awkward quota for the day.

He was reaching for the doorknob, when for some reason, a small thought tugged at the back of his mind—no words, just a whim—and he glanced thoughtfully back at Phoenix.

He had stopped paying attention to the defense attorney's exit and was completely enthralled in his work. Apollo watched for a moment, for some reason absorbed in the way the older man bent over the pages, so clearly involved and earnest about his studies. Maybe it was his sense of appreciation for good and honest hard work—maybe it was just nostalgia for the ideals of his youth—but Apollo couldn't help but feel a sort of calm wash over him as he took in the sight of Phoenix being serious about something.

After awhile of this consideration, Apollo said freely, "You're not at all what I expected you to be, Mr. Wright."

Phoenix's head lifted absentmindedly, "Oh?"

Apollo's mouth twitched upwards slightly.

In some ways, this image of Phoenix—of him sitting at his desk and being just so _devoted _to the cause of justice—was in every way the image of his childhood-hero.

And yet, in every other conceivable way that didn't actually matter, Phoenix was the complete antithesis of what he had expected. That stupid beanie was still sitting snuggly on top of his spikes, as always; the five-o-clock shadow and the hoodie gave off the vague impression of homelessness, or at least an ineptitude to general cleanliness; the bottle resting to his side, although most certainly filled with harmless contents, did nothing to help this image.

Phoenix was without a doubt one of the most infuriating people he could imagine working for.

He was haughty, often purposefully confusing, and he kept the office looking like an entire magicians troupe had taken up residence, instead of the one usual teenaged novice.

He didn't keep the pens stocked. He didn't greet him in the morning with a tilt of the head and a sugary-sweet smile. He cursed openly when Trucy wasn't around, and his posture was unprofessional.

Phoenix was tactless, he was laid-back, he was light-hearted—

He was absolutely everything Kristoph Gavin wasn't.

"But maybe," Apollo broke into a full out smile, soft but wide, "that's not such a bad thing."

* * *

><p>At about half past three, right on cue, Apollo heard the bell on the office main entrance jingling, alerting him to the fact that Trucy had arrived. When he didn't see her head poking around his door after a minute or so, he concluded that she had decided to check up on her father first, which meant that he could rest for a couple more minutes before the usual barrage of invasive questions about him and Klavier began. He sighed, rubbed at his temples, and tried to focus on the back log of reports he knew he should've finished a week ago.<p>

Apollo actually felt quite accomplished at the fact that he'd managed to add an extra half inch to his finished pile before Trucy finally popped cheerfully into his office.

"Hey Polly!" she gave him her usual pep-filled greeting.

"Afternoon, Trucy," he gave her a tired smile back, rubbing at his report-fatigued eyes with the back of his hand.

"Tired?"

"A little, yeah."

She grinned, "Not surprising, considering yesterday."

Apollo started, already feeling the color in his cheeks, "…what?"

Trucy giggled, "You and Klavier got really _friendly_ in the reception area. I can only imagine what _that_ led to later."

"You weren't supposed to see that!" Apollo's eyes bulged at this point, because he was _not_ having this conversation with a fifteen year old, much less the daughter of his boss, "A-and it did _not_, uh…" his voice trailed off, "lead to anything of the sort…"

There was more giggling on Trucy's part, "Now now Polly, you don't have to be shy. He's your boyfriend; it's very natural to want to—"

"_Geez_, Trucy, okay," Apollo started frantically waving his hands in front of his face, "I'm a grown man, and I do _not_ need to hear…the _talk_ from a young girl."

Trucy crossed her arms and pursed, "Hey! I'm not stupid! I'm fifteen you know! I know what sex is!"

Apollo's head hit the desk with a very loud and painful _thunk_, "Oh my _god_, Trucy. Can we _please_ not talk about this?"

"Aw, come on, I was just curious…"

"_Trucy_," and maybe it came out a little harsher than he meant it, because the young girl actually looked taken aback, "What I do—or do _not_ do—in my private life is exactly that: _private_."

There was a beat of silence as Trucy continued to give him a dear-in-the-headlights look, then awkwardly began toeing the floor, and Apollo actually felt something akin to remorse drop down his stomach, because this was quite possibly the first time since he could remember that Trucy _didn't_ have something in reply to say.

"Um…well, I mean..," he tried to find somewhere to start, but found his mouth stumbling over words.

She rubbed at the back of her neck in a dejected sort of way, "…I didn't know I was bothering you. I'll just…I'll just stop."

Trucy's eyes weren't watering, but if he thought about it, Apollo almost would've preferred tears over the subdued tone that her voice carried, certainly not a whisper or a meek mutter, but a few decibels lower than normal, enough to mark a difference.

When the ensuing quiet was more than just a little awkward, Trucy echoed herself, "…I was just curious."

Apollo sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "No, it's okay."

There was more uncomfortable silence, and then Apollo inelegantly offered, "Do you…ah…" _(how exactly does one cheer up a teenage girl, again?)_, "maybe want a hug?...or something…"

When Trucy shuffled side-ways over to his desk without a word, just tucked her chin in and tilted sad, expectant eyes up to look at him, he took it as an affirmation. Sighing through his nose, he got up, and was immediately enveloped around the waist by thin arms. He patted Trucy on the head in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

He decided not to mention that his breathing felt a little constricted at this point.

"It just makes me really happy that Klavier makes _you_ happy, that's all," she said, her words getting swallowed up by the fabric of his vest, "Because you're important to me."

"Gee Trucy, I didn't know you cared so much."

Trucy frowned, squeezing tighter, and Apollo had to switch to shallow breathing as she said, "Of course I care, you big stupid head."

He felt her expression soften against him as her grip suddenly loosened a bit, and she continued, "Before it was just me and Daddy; I don't have any brothers or sisters; my best friend lives all the way up the mountain," Apollo tried very hard to stay his curiosity and not ask, "It's nice having you around the office."

"It's nice being around the office," Apollo said sincerely.

If he regretted saying it, it was only because it made Trucy hug him excessively tight again, "And Klavier _does_ make you happy, right?"

Before he could say anything, she was looking up at him, all wide-eyed and serious, "Because if he turns out like all those other typical rock-stars—if he makes you cry then I'm gonna make him disappear! And I _won't_ bring him back for the final act!"

Apollo actually laughed a little, "Yes, yes, he makes me very happy."

And as he said it, he couldn't help but feel his chest lighten, and he knew he wasn't saying it just to appease Trucy. He was also pretty sure his cheeks were turning slightly pink, but for once he didn't mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Maybe it's because I can kind of see the end of this fic coming over the horizon (not too close, but it's coming), but I'm feeling all sentimental again.

Thank you, to everyone who has read and/or left a review. I'd especially like to say how much I appreciate the people who left me constructive criticism. I've always known what direction I wanted this story to go, how I wanted to characterize everybody, and how I want it to end, and while I'm confident this story is still completely my own uncompromised vision, I have taken all criticism to heart and consideration, and I can honestly say that this story is a different (and better) read because of it.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart—I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride. :)

* * *

><p>"How about dinner tonight?"<p>

Apollo balanced his phone between his cheek and shoulder, careful not to accidently push any buttons that might terminate the call, something that was admittedly a common occurrence during his more…enthusiastic moods.

"I don't know…" he replied in between filling his briefcase with the day's files and paperwork, "It's not like I don't want to, but…we just had dinner last week, and I'm kind of…um, short on cash…"

There was the sound of an intake of breath on the other side, which Apollo immediately cut off, "And _no_, you are not paying for me again."

"Oh! Oh!" Trucy's voice suddenly carried over from the corner where she was busy giving Mr. Charley "his" daily dose of water, "Is that Klavier?_!_"

"…Trucy says hi."

Klavier chuckled softly, "You know I don't mind treating you, Mein Forehead."

Apollo snapped his briefcase shut, "But if you keep doing it, then I'll start feeling bad, and then I won't be able to enjoy our nights out."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" the prosecutor mused good-naturedly.

Maybe it was Apollo's imagination, but he couldn't help but feel like Klavier was beaming him a smile through the phone.

He traced circles in the wood of his desk in a distracted sort of manner, hoping he wasn't coming off as prissy or over-sensitive, "…sorry."

"Mmm," was all he got in response, a deep murmur of the throat that Apollo had come to recognize as a sign that the prosecutor was thinking.

After a bit of silence, Klavier said, "Well then, what _were_ your dinner plans for tonight?"

Apollo thought about it, "I was probably just going to grab some take out."

"Sounds perfect," there was the sound of rustling, and Apollo could picture Klavier leaning back into the leather of his chair, "Your place or mine?"

It took a moment for the offer to register itself in Apollo's mind, but then it hit him like a ton of bricks and his voice was small, "I—w-wait…you're letting me choose?"

A slight surge of panic shot through Apollo.

Klavier's place was…unfamiliar territory, a huge, looming metaphorical ball of possibilities and unknown implications.

But bringing his boyfriend (a term he still felt shy in using to refer to the prosecutor, even in his own mind) over to his small, cramped apartment felt somehow even more private and personal than the alternative.

He steadied his voice, "I guess…your place is good."

Apollo snapped his head in the direction of a very audible squeak. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Trucy pressing both hands firmly across a grin, looking like she might explode from all the comments she was holding in. She bit down on her lip, still smiling, and made a zipping motion across her mouth with two fingers.

When she resolutely held up three fingers, Apollo rolled his eyes, _(Like you were ever a scout)_.

All the same, he appreciated the sentiment.

He turned his attention back to Klavier, picking up a pencil and notepad, once again balancing the phone between his head and shoulder, "I brought my bike to work today, so you can just give me directions."

He tried to keep the blood levels in his face normal as Klavier dictated through the phone.

"Then once you're past the second intersection, make a left and you should see the building straight up ahead. I'm on the fifth floor, number 52."

Apollo jerked and pressed his ear closer to the receiver in surprise, "You're _what_?_!_"

A loud beep informed him that he had accidently hit the call cancel button.

"_Dammit_."

* * *

><p>Apollo stepped off the pedals of his bike and took the opportunity to stare up at the building, hands steadying the bicycle by the handlebars. It thoroughly surprised him that Klavier—rock star and prosecutor extraordinaire—lived in an apartment complex. It was hard to imagine him sitting down to breakfast, sorting out the rent.<p>

It seemed too benign, too _domestic_.

Didn't all rock stars supposedly live in hill-top mansions? Or was that just an image hyped up by press and pop culture?

The building's intercom was uninteresting enough—at least the building _had_ an intercom/lock system, unlike the ancient edifice he rented his apartment from—but it didn't exactly scream 'penthouse' either.

Klavier's voice came crackling over the tiny speaker, "That you, Forehead?"

It vaguely crossed Apollo's mind how this moniker had somehow taken on affectionate undertones, "Yeah, it's me."

"Alright, I'll buzz you in."

_(He seems cheerful enough.)_

Apollo couldn't help but wish he could detect at least a _little_ bit of nervousness in Klavier's voice, but the prosecutor sounded as composed as usual.

He wasn't sure what to expect when he finally knocked on the door. Klavier greeted him with a smile, but Apollo couldn't help focusing his view to the sides of him.

Klavier caught him peeking into the apartment, "Anxious to see inside?"

Apollo nodded nervously and stepped carefully over the threshold, heartbeat just a little quicker than before.

It was certainly…neat, for lack of a better word. He would have used "empty," but this seemed like such an inappropriate word to apply to Klavier.

The door opened up immediately to the main room, which was adorned simply with a two-seater couch and an unremarkable coffee table. The walls were bare, and the only source of light came from the fixture installed in the ceiling.

"Unfortunately it's not very lived in," Klavier brushed the hair out of his eyes as he observed Apollo taking in the surroundings—or lack thereof, "The family home is back in Germany—the band and I mostly used this place to crash whenever we were touring in the area."

Apollo noted the small kitchen further off to the right, and counted three doors besides the entrance. For a two-bedroom apartment, it was rather decently sized, something he himself definitely couldn't afford. It was large and spacious, enough room for two, possibly even three people to live in and share comfortably.

It was entirely too big for one person.

Apollo hung his head a bit and gazed solemnly at the box of Chinese take-out in his hands, "It's…roomy."

"I've been meaning to get new furniture, now that I'm more permanently settled. Make it seem less vacant, ja?"

Apollo idly thumbed the box as his chest squeezed, because he knew better—Klavier had said vacant, but what he'd meant was _lonely_.

"Or maybe," he wet his lips, eyes still downcast, "Maybe I could come over more often."

He felt warm hands over his own and lifted his head up to see Klavier giving him a soft look of appreciation.

He swallowed as the prosecutor pressed a kiss to his temple, his breathe tickling the top of his ear, "You certainly know how to fill a room with your presence."

* * *

><p>"You've got to be kidding me."<p>

Klavier looked over to the window where Herr Forehead was pressing his namesake and hands against the window.

"Looks like it's raining," Klavier moved over next to the attorney's side and gazed out at the fat drops of water plastering themselves to the glass.

Apollo reached into his pocket and flipped his phone open to read the time on the display—11:40 pm. He blushed slightly at the thought of how late it was, how he had been enjoying the evening so much that this much time had just slipped him by.

A thought hit him, "The buses don't run this late."

"You could call a cab."

"…I don't really think I have enough to cover the distance."

Apollo looked guiltily at the prosecutor—he could see the ghost of an offer on the tip of his tongue, one he could see was being respectively held back.

Klavier moved his gaze towards the ceiling, towards some alternative idea, "…You could always…stay the night."

His eyes shifted in Apollo's direction, who immediately looked at the floor instinctively. The defense attorney, heart racing, steadied himself before he said anything.

He paused to make sure his eyes met back with Klavier's, "I wouldn't…want to put you out or anything…"

Klavier leaned forward but took no steps, did nothing that was even remotely suggestive—the warmth of his expression still managed to travel across the distance though.

"It _is_ a two-room apartment."

And Apollo found himself appreciating both nuances of this statement, the one that was obvious and on the surface, clearly a direct answer to his statement—and the one hidden underneath the subtext. It made his nerves calm down a bit.

He quietly said, "Alright then."

Five minutes later, when Klavier rummaged through some drawers and managed to fish out some sheets for what was clearly a bed that hadn't been used in awhile, Apollo insisted on helping him cover the mattress and with spreading the duvet.

When Klavier offered him a pair of pajamas to borrow, Apollo furiously shook his head and didn't even bother trying to hide the blush, because _(Oh my __**god**__, I can't sleep in __**my boyfriend's clothes**__.)_

And when he'd turned out the lights and crawled under the covers still dressed in his work clothes, tie and all (he hadn't even realized how tired he was), he was a little surprised to hear the door creak open again, but pleasantly so when he felt Klavier kiss him gently on the forehead.

"For sweet dreams," he said.

Apollo didn't dare move or open his eyes the whole time and deliberately kept his breathing even and steady, even though he was pretty sure that Klavier didn't buy the act.

But when Klavier crept quietly out and shut the door behind him, Apollo pulled the covers over his head, curled into himself, and smiled.

* * *

><p><em>Apollo knows he is dreaming.<em>

_There's that sort of weightlessness that comes with that minimum of lucidness, the barest of tethers connecting consciousness to a body that he knows is his, even though it's not, because this isn't really real. He lifts his hand up to his face to examine it, but it feels slow, like it's just a nano-second too late, like he's not just watching his hand move, but the whole of himself, from an outside view._

_And then the ground is gone and he's falling, but that feels slow too, and the blackness makes it feel less like falling and more like sinking. He goes past nothing, just darkness, more blackness than should be possible, and everything feels muted, even the silence, soft and unfocused._

_He doesn't remember touching ground—in that smooth, jerky way that dreams often operate, he suddenly finds himself upright, but it feels okay, natural, like he's just watching a movie and the film has cut to a different scene._

_There's a ringing in his ears, pleasant, structured, vaguely musical if he listens hard enough (and as this __**is**__ a dream, his attention is harder to focus and he only half recognizes it, like snatches of a forgotten lullaby). It echoes in his head, but he turns his head towards the empty space, as if the sound is also permeating throughout the emptiness, and he tries to follow it back to the source. He sees a figure in the distance, a thin, dark silhouette, black on black. He knows this doesn't visually make sense, that he shouldn't see anything, but this is a dream, so he figures the regular rules don't apply._

_A sense of longing and nostalgia overtakes him and he feels his legs moving, starts running towards the figure; the sound gets louder, starts becoming more distinguishable as a voice and he thinks, _(Maybe it _is_ a lullaby), _and he tries to run harder, but he feels a fatigue in his leg muscles, the kind you only get in dreams, where it feels like this _should_ come naturally, but instead it feels like he's a ghost trying to move inside a foreign body (and in some respects, that's exactly what it is)._

_Each step pounds loudly in the emptiness, but he doesn't seem to be getting any closer to the figure—if anything, it only seems to be growing farther and farther away._

_The outline of them is androgynous, just inky blackness, no discernible features, and yet Apollo can't help but feel some sort of attachment, some memory stirring within him, forgotten recollections of soft blankets and warm, reassuring vocals—a woman's perhaps?_

_Why is this so important?_

_And then the figure starts moving, begins turning and something hopeful lurches through his chest before everything starts turning to shit._

_The figure turns and suddenly Apollo stops stone-cold, and he fearfully takes a step back because the figure is inexplicably too __**close**__ now, and it's no longer an indiscernible shadow, it's __**Kristoph Gavin**__, and he's stepped back into his old office, his old workplace, the blackness is gone, it's all white now, the white, sterile walls of Mr. Gavin's office, and everything starts going too fast and he can't keep up._

"_Did you finish those reports Justice?"_

_Kristoph gives him a smile, sweet and sugary and sick, and it's all Apollo can see, it fills his awareness, almost swallows the dream whole._

"_I—sorry sir, the what?"_

_The smile is gone and Kristoph looks at him condescendingly, "The __**reports**__, Justice."_

_He gulps, "Sir, I've been writing reports all day, can't I take a break?"_

_Kristoph leans threateningly over the desk and Apollo doesn't even question that he suddenly finds himself sitting behind it, papers spread before him, pen in hand, because this is a dream, so __**screw the rules of reality**__. As far as he's concerned, he's been sitting at this desk since morning, and his hand feels cramped, because dammit, __**he's been writing reports all day**__._

"_I'm tired, sir."_

"_I do not tolerate slackers, Justice."_

_Apollo tries to make light of this unbearably uncomfortable situation, laughs nervously and tries to make a joke, "Come on Mr. Gavin—even God rested once."_

_Kristoph doesn't even bat an eye lid, "That's because he knew it was the only day of rest he was going to get—you can rest when you're dead."_

_And then there's a loud bang, and Apollo realizes it's the sound of the back of his head hitting the floor, and there are hands wrapped around his throat._

_The desk is gone, there's nothing separating Kristoph from lunging forward to press Apollo into the ground._

_He chokes, "Mr. Gavin—!"_

_His head is spinning, everything is a haze of white, although he can't tell if that's from the asphyxiation or because the office has disappeared and all that's left are white walls, towering masses of rising blankness, rising higher and higher like tidal waves._

_He shuts his eyes and welcomes the darkness. _

_He tries screaming but his chords feel raw, his chest is burning, the fingers at his throat keep pressing._

_"Breathe!"_

(I can't!_!_)

_And then natural instincts start kicking in and he begins thrashing, but it doesn't seem to work, he can still feel Kristoph's tight grip against his throat, sinking into his skin and twisting…_

_"Breathe, goddammit, __**please**__!_!_"_

_Only this time it sounds genuinely concerned, worried, laced with a desperate kindness, and that scares him more than __**anything**__, because that's __**not**__ the Kristoph he knows, and so he _opened his eyes and saw vague shapes, a blur of dark hues as his vision adjusted.

He could see a face, barely make out distinct features, just curtains of blonde hair.

He could still feel a body pressed up against him, someone struggling to hold him down as he thrashed about, but he found his throat miraculously free and inhaled sharply.

He cried out, "Mr. Gavin!"

"No!" the voice seemed conflicted, as if the speaker couldn't decided between feeling relieved or mortified, "It's me, it's me, I'm here."

Apollo felt strong arms pull him upright, and then _(Oh god, it's Klavier, Klavier's here)_, and he melted into the embrace immediately.

He wrapped his arms across Klavier's shoulders and buried his face against his neck, breathing hitched and heavy, "It—bad dream—it was a bad dream."

Klavier hushed him with gentle caresses up and down his back, "Shhh…don't think about anything other than me."

Apollo felt safe as Klavier softly rocked him back and forth, felt secure in the way Klavier's body curved and fit with his, like a cocoon of warmth.

And then Klavier started humming.

"Don't," he said, before he could stop himself, "Don't sing, please."

The hands on his back stilled and he tightened his hold against Klavier in response, hoping the other would understand. He felt Klavier's hands move up to grasp the sides of his face before carefully placing a kiss on the corner of Apollo's mouth. Then lips travelled across his jawline and Apollo shivered a bit when Klavier got to the bit of skin at the end, right underneath that angle of bone and flesh.

He knew it shouldn't have scared him as much as it did when Klavier went on trailing kisses down his throat, knew that Klavier was only trying to comfort him, was only doing this out of kindness and consideration. When he found himself being lowered so carefully, an attentive arm draped across his back to steady his descent, he couldn't help but wonder if everyone else in Klavier's past relationships had been treated this tenderly.

Then the kisses were at the base of his neck, slightly more open-mouthed, and when Klavier began to lightly suck Apollo could barely suppress a sharp inhale of breath, one that he held for a moment before releasing it in staggered emissions, punctuated by small noises that refused to stay buried in his throat. Klavier's hands began roaming, and something like fire flared up in Apollo's chest. He felt the ghost of touches long after the hands had moved on, even through the fabric of his clothes.

Apollo was overtly aware that they were straddling the line of an invisible border, one that couldn't be uncrossed, and it terrified him. He had never imagined that he could feel this vulnerable, that his mind and body could be at such odds, because he was pretty sure that if he could've seen himself from an outsider's perspective it would have certainly _seemed_ like he was enjoying himself, if the sounds he was emitting were anything to go by.

He hadn't even _known_ certain spots could feel so sensitive, seemingly innocent places like the crook of his shoulder, or the spot right behind his ear, places that were in plain sight and that anyone could see in public. He had always taken them for granted, had never realized until now that these places were so sensitive because no other person had ever touched them before.

And then Klavier's hand was traveling slowly southward, and a warning bell went off in Apollo's head, telling him that his last chance of having any control over this situation was about to pass.

"Wait," he breathed out with some difficulty, and if his voice faltered it was only because Klavier's hand had stopped right where his thumb could brush against a particularly responsive spot, right above his belt line.

The prosecutor looked at him with wide eyes, so authentically surprised, and for a moment Apollo could swear he was looking into the past, seeing the same dazed and oblivious look that Klavier had given him all that time ago in the forensics lab, back when Apollo had finally managed to convey that he hadn't been interested in his advances.

A sense of panic filled him as he realized that this was probably the first time anyone had ever told Klavier to stop. Klavier was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue, to say something, to elaborate on the reason for this suspension, and Apollo felt caught between feelings of hesitation and guilt.

There was a part of him that appreciated the sentiment, because it wasn't like Klavier was forcing him or anything—if anything, the complete and overall aura of tenderness and consideration that was exuding off of him just made this whole situation that much harder for Apollo.

He understood that Klavier wanted to comfort him, to make him feel good, and that this was probably just what he normally did in these situations, but this wasn't exactly what Apollo needed right now. He could see a sort of uncertainty in Klavier's eyes, asking him, _(What is it? What do you want to say?)_

This was a new development for him, and maybe Klavier had an idea of why Apollo had told him to stop, but he was all together in the dark as to what Apollo wanted from him at this point, and he was waiting for the other to direct him.

_(Just say it. Just say you don't want to do it.)_

But there was a feeling of deep fear beginning to root itself in his stomach, because he remembered all too well the last time this had happened—the last time he had opened up his goddamn mouth—and he'd sworn to himself, he'd _promised_ he would never let Klavier's expression melt into that look of absolute hurt again.

The thought of somehow screwing up and saying the wrong thing in the wrong way literally left him too terrified to say anything.

He tried to start something, "I just—"

But Klavier just leaned in attentively, gave him a good-natured smile, and Apollo's resolve quickly withered away.

They stared at each for a good moment, and Apollo tried to think of anything and everything to make things progress away from this standstill.

_(What if I…?)_

His eyes involuntarily shifted downward to gaze at—

_(__**No**__. That's a __**bad**__ idea Justice, that doesn't solve anything.)_

But his hands weren't listening to this inner voice of reason, because before he could reiterate that this was a bad idea, he was already leaning forwards and reaching for the buckle of Klavier's belt.

"Apollo…!"

But the words didn't reach him because he was too busy shaking badly and trying to focus on _whatever the hell_ it was he was trying to prove, and he thought, _(Stop it. Stop before you regret it), _but his hands were trembling, and his heart was racing, and he wasn't stopping.

He could sense Klavier watching him with a sort of unbelieving, shocked bewilderment as he fumbled several times with the catch on the belt, but he kept his eyes unfocused, trained downwards. Amidst all the white noise and objections running through his head, a small voice was attempting to say, _(It's okay, it's not that bad, this is just an understanding, it's a compromise, it's just for a little bit, you can't really stop __**now**__) _and somehow during all of this he managed get the metal fastener unhooked. With bated breath he began to tug the strip of leather free of Klavier's belt loops.

When Klavier's hand caught around his wrist, he immediately looked up, unsure of whether the expression he was giving the prosecutor was one of absolute terror or gratitude.

Klavier simply looked across the distance before bracing Apollo's shoulders and kissing him gently—everything was soft, nothing more, and Apollo's heart thumped painfully as he let out a sigh of relief. Klavier thoughtfully touched at the knot of Apollo's tie, the one he had neglected to take off before going to bed, that had loosened itself during all of this, and slowly hiked it back up, left it loose enough to stay any reminiscence of his recent breathing troubles, just tight enough to make a show of things. He tucked the loop of fabric under his collar for good measure, smoothed the material down.

It was all Apollo needed to understand.

As soon as Klavier let go, it was like a well-spring of tension had been released, and maybe the earlier nightmare induced distress was factoring into it, maybe it was the feelings of inadequacy and the thoughts of wishing he wasn't so _bad_ at this, that he was _better_ for Klavier, but there was nothing he could do to stop it when the tears started falling.

"Oh, oh, shhh," and Klavier just swept him up in his arms, cradled his head in his shoulder, "Please don't—I'm not worth the tears."

"_Shut up_," said Apollo, letting the tears smear against Klavier's skin, "You're not special. I cried for Vera when I found out she was alive."

Apollo knew he shouldn't be so stubborn, shouldn't have reacted with such an insensitive response, but in a way it made things more bearable, because it was something _normal_ he could cling to.

Klavier just threaded his fingers in Apollo's hair and laughed lightly, content, "Glad to know I make your list of miracles."


	12. Chapter 12

I have been waiting to write this chapter since I don't even know. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. :D

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><p>Klavier was a pretty good boyfriend.<p>

Even Apollo—stubborn as he was—had to admit it.

Maybe it was the rock star tag and all the glitter that came with Klavier's image, but Apollo had resented him a bit in the beginning for having a natural sense of charm and the ability to somehow pull off the most ridiculously contrived lines—it was only now, after he had bothered actually getting closer to him, that Apollo realized that Klavier had the rare and truly special characteristic of really, genuinely meaning all the sweet and suave things he said.

Today, however, was different.

On this particular morning, Apollo got to see a side of Klavier that he'd only once before glimpsed at, proving that if he wanted, the rock star could be just as stubborn as Apollo was.

"Klavier, it was just a _dream_. It didn't mean anything. You don't have to do this."

Apollo watched helplessly as Klavier continued rummaging through his bathroom drawers, a slight frown of determination set upon his expression, "That's where you're wrong."

The defense attorney made a small noise of disapproval, feeling a bit put out. He was currently toeing the threshold of the bathroom, caught awkwardly between wanting to march in and directly stop Klavier, and feeling like he was obligated as a guest to not step foot in the bathroom while his host was occupying it.

When Klavier let out an exclamation of recognition and pulled out what seemed to be an ordinary looking pair of styling scissors, Apollo impulsively stepped forward and snatched them from his fingers.

"You can't!" he said, clutching them close to his chest.

Klavier gave him a very serious look, "Apollo…"

"I didn't mean to call you Mr. Gavin last night," there was a spot of desperation in Apollo's voice, "I was hysterical! I wasn't thinking straight!"

Klavier forced out a breath, rubbed at the back of his neck, but his voice was softer nonetheless, "Mein Forehead…"

"It was an accident, I swear," Apollo gripped the scissors tighter, "Right now, I only see you, okay? I don't see your brother, at all."

Klavier chuckled, just gave a sad, small smile and looked off to the side, "Then I wish I could see what you see."

And then there was a moment of silence, where Apollo nervously fidgeted with the scissors. He hesitated, wondering if maybe he should say something profound in response to this.

He slowly unfurled his arms from his chest, presented the scissors with both hands, "…don't do this for me."

Klavier encapsulated Apollo's hands within his own, "I promise I'm not doing it for you."

Apollo merely nodded in reply, tried hard to not let his relief show too much.

Klavier released his hands, ruffled Apollo's hair a little (to which the other grimaced a bit at), then said, "Stay right there. I'll be right back."

Then he turned around and unceremoniously left the bathroom.

Apollo stood blinking in the middle of the room, fingers still curled around the scissors, "…hah?"

_(Well, um…wait, what?)_

Before he had a chance to question it any further, Klavier was back, carrying a simple wooden chair. This he placed resolutely on the floor before making himself comfortable in it.

"You're going to cut it."

The reaction was immediate, "What?"

Apollo instantly recoiled when his voice bounced off the bathroom tiles, _(Am I really __**that**__ loud?)_

Klavier crossed his arms and leaned back, "I'm serious, Justice."

"B-but…I'm a lawyer," he offered feebly.

"I never said you weren't."

"…I'm definitely not a hair dresser."

"You don't have to be—just a couple of snips. It'll be easy."

When Apollo let out a hesitant whine, Klavier touched the tips of his fingers to the defense attorney's arm, "Please. It has to be you."

Apollo bit his lip. Well, what was he supposed to say to that? Klavier was giving him a pleading look that was getting harder by the second to ignore.

"…if it comes out uneven, you can't blame me."

Klavier thoughtfully sat up straight and swept his hair back, off his shoulders, "I trust you completely."

At this, Apollo nervously shuffled over to the sink and grabbed a fine-toothed comb, wetting it under the faucet before taking his place behind Klavier. He ran his fingers through the section of hair above Klavier's ear, sweeping it back before combing it. Klavier's shoulders visibly slackened in reaction, which Apollo took special note of. Experimentally, he started at the very edge of the prosecutor's hairline, taking care to lightly skim the teeth of the comb across his scalp in what he hoped was a soothing way. When Klavier took in a slow, relaxed breath, let out a barely audible sigh, and leaned into Apollo's hands, he figured he had succeeded.

_(Mental note: Klavier likes having his hair brushed.)_

It was something so small, so minute in detail, and yet he found himself filing it away for future reference. Maybe it was due in part to last night's events, but he was feeling particularly grateful for Klavier's…well, just Klavier in general.

Why was Apollo just now really noticing how thoughtful he was? The defense attorney teased drops of water into his hair, making sure it distributed evenly as he considered the way his boundaries were always being minded, how every glance and gesture held meaning, even the way Klavier subtly helped him in court, slipped him hints and nudges in the right direction amidst all the teasing.

_(…I'm really lucky, aren't I?)_

Apollo gently pulled through a knot, wondering if maybe he should work a little harder at this relationship stuff.

Klavier let out a soft laugh, "You're blushing, Mein Forehead."

Apollo jumped a bit at this, glad he wasn't holding the scissors yet.

He blurted out, "You don't know that! You're facing the other way!"

Klavier just laughed again and gestured in front of him. Apollo glanced up and was startled to see his own, embarrassed expression staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. And, yup, that was clearly a bit of color spreading itself across his cheeks. Damn.

He ducked his head back down and tried to concentrate on the task in front of him, but it was hard not to ignore the image of Klavier smirking in the mirror.

"You're too cute, Justice. I could just eat you up."

"…and I was just thinking nice things about you, too."

"Ah! So that's what it was!"

Apollo stubbornly yanked the comb through a section of hair.

"Ach! Alright, alright, I'm sorry!"

He returned to thoughtful brushes, careful to guard his expression, to not satisfy Klavier with a reply, but inwardly he thought, _(This isn't so bad)_.

He had woken up this morning worried that things might be a bit uncomfortable, but this…playful banter and light teasing, no awkward or overly drawn, cliché conversations…yeah, this was nice.

Apollo placed the comb back on the counter, satisfied that Klavier's hair was wet enough, and picked up the scissors once again. He cautiously sectioned off some of the prosecutor's hair and slid it between the two blades.

"Last chance to change your mind," he said before actually doing anything permanent.

Klavier said simply, "I've made up my mind."

Apollo took a deep breath, apprehensive, "O-okay."

Truth be told, on some level he felt that cutting Klavier's hair was a bit of a shame—it was so nice and fine, it was almost a waste to cut it all off. Had he grown attached to its current state? It was something that he hadn't even been aware of until this very moment.

Apollo exhaled forcefully and pressed the scissors closed, all at once. The sharp sound of the blades sliding against each other was quick, so final sounding, it was almost a relief.

There. That was it. No way to undo it now.

He took the next section of hair and pulled it taught, felt the tension give way as he made the next cut. It was almost mesmerizing watching the scissors glide through each clip.

He worked his way through, section by section, quietly, as an amiable sort of silence wrapped itself around the atmosphere. Apollo wondered briefly if he should make conversation, but something told him that Klavier preferred it this way. This silent exchange felt somehow comforting, felt strangely intimate, just the sounds of metal on metal and the feather-light contact of hair hitting the floor.

Before long, there was a golden pile of hair strewn around their feet and what had been left intact now stopped at about an inch above Klavier's shoulders. Apollo picked up a brush and began combing out the remaining water.

"Is this okay? You didn't want it shorter, or…?"

Klavier smiled contently, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of someone once again brushing his hair, "Mmm. It's good."

"It's not _too_ short, is it?"

He shrugged, "I've had it shorter. This is manageable."

"Manageable?"

Without getting out of the chair, Klavier reached for one of the counter drawers and fished out a simple, black hair tie, "The last time it was this length I mostly just kept it pulled back—it looked best that way."

Apollo took the tie, thinking, _(Well, at least I don't have to work the curling iron)_, and smoothed Klavier's hair back before manipulating it into a very short ponytail. The strands that were too short slipped out immediately, leaving a nice frame around the immediate sides of his face. Apollo circled to the front of the chair, fussing a bit over Klavier's bangs, brushing some of the loose strands behind his ears. Apollo had to admit that the prosecutor had been right about this looking nice—it really played well with his European features.

As he pushed back the last bits of hair from Klavier's eyes his hands lingered a bit, the tips of his fingers ghosting shyly against skin. He took in the sight of Klavier, glancing briefly at the overall work he'd done before focusing in on what was really appealing to him. It didn't take long for the edges of his vision to soften and center on Klavier's mouth, pulled into an easy grin.

Klavier looked at him, smile growing wider, fonder, "And now? What're you thinking about this time?"

Apollo didn't even bother feeling embarrassed about the color in his face—he wasn't going to feel sorry for having honest expressions. His response was to lower his hands onto Klavier's shoulders and lean in before giving him a light kiss. It was chaste, but it wasn't shy either—it was honest, with a hint of promise.

It had always struck Apollo how eloquent Klavier could be without uttering a single word. He could somehow speak volumes with just a touch or a glance. Apollo pressed a bit more into the kiss, hoping to convey everything he felt too awkward to say—a sense of gratitude and affection that he felt was long overdue.

And that, for the first time, he fully believed that this could all work out in the long run.


	13. Chapter 13

I really, really struggled with this chapter, and I'm still not sure if I'm quite satisfied with it yet. Any and all constructive criticism is of course welcome.

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><p>It was quiet.<p>

At first it unnerved Apollo a bit, because he wasn't used to it being so peaceful around this time of day, but he wasn't particularly bothered either, because he figured it just meant that Trucy was a little late, that's all.

It wasn't until after she had arrived and it _stayed_ quiet that he started to worry. It didn't help that her usually pep-filled greeting made him highly suspicious.

She poked her head into Apollo's office, "Hey Polly."

He immediately quirked an eyebrow, _(What, no exclamation mark?)_

"Hey Trucy."

"Just wanted to let you know I have a friend over."

"Oh?" he said nervously.

He was supposed to be in charge of looking after Trucy and the office while Phoenix was away taking the bar exam. It was no secret the man was fiercely protective of his daughter.

"Don't worry, Daddy knows they're here," she said, catching the way he nervously pulled at his tie, "Just, um…don't bother us, okay?"

"Why?"

"Homework!" she said quickly, before pulling her head back out and snapping the door shut faster than Apollo could blink.

He sat stunned for a moment, before remarking, "But you _never_ do your homework!"

He got up and opened the door to the main lobby, but to his surprise it was empty. Either Trucy was faster on her feet than he gave her credit for, or she'd pulled one of her vanishing acts. He didn't put it past her.

"Trucy!" he called out.

No response.

A bit irritated, he perked up his ears and tried to pick up any sounds, even though he wasn't quite sure what exactly he was listening for.

After walking a bit through the room, he heard the slight rustle of movement and muffled voices as he neared Phoenix's door.

_(Really? In your __**father's**__ office?)_

Honestly, he wouldn't have bothered if she wasn't acting so weird.

He gripped the doorknob and turned, "Trucy…"

The first thing that he immediately took notice of was that the lights were off. The second was that there were lit candles _everywhere_. The third, and perhaps most striking of all, was the fact that Trucy was sitting on the floor in the middle of all this, accompanied by what appeared to be another girl, dressed in…spirit medium robes?

"What the hell is going on?!"

"I can explain!"

"_You_ can explain? How am _I_ supposed to explain to Mr. Wright why I let his office get covered in candle wax while he was gone?!"

Trucy's friend looked like she was about to cry, "See, I _told _you this was a bad idea."

When the girl's eyes began to show signs of actually spilling over with tears, Apollo instinctively softened his expression.

"…And you are?"

Trucy was glad for the distraction, "This is Pearl! She's my best friend!"

"Pearl, does Mr. Wright know what you girls are up to?" he paused and thought about it, "What _are_ you girls doing in here, anyway?"

An uncomfortable silence settled into the room—it was only made more unnerving by the shadows the flickering candles were casting on everything.

Apollo looked back and forth at the girls, caught between Trucy's best 'it's not my fault!' look, and a poor look from Pearl that suggested this probably _was_ all Trucy's fault.

Pearl managed to find her voice first, however small and squeaky, "Mr. Nick said we weren't supposed to do this…"

Trucy added, "You can't tell Daddy, alright?"

He crossed his arms and frowned, "I'm not making any promises."

"Aw, come on! It's taken me _forever_ to convince Pearls to agree to this, and today's the _only_ day Daddy's not gonna be here!"

When Trucy just looked up at him, mouth pouting, Apollo merely rolled his eyes. He liked to consider himself strong willed, and he was no stranger to resisting Trucy's trade-mark puppy dog eyes. _Pearl_ on the other hand was something else entirely.

For one thing, she wasn't _trying_ to goad his favor with crocodile tears—she naturally possessed a sort of innocence about her that made him want to dote on her. He dubbed it the 'little sister' effect on impromptu.

She reminded him a bit of Iris, actually.

Currently she was looking at him with genuine tears in her eyes, a thousand times more effective than any look Trucy had ever given him, "Please don't tell anyone, Mr. Justice."

It was like an arrow through the heart.

"…fine."

Trucy immediately shot her hand out, "Pinky swear!"

Apollo rolled his eyes, but curled his pinky around Trucy's nonetheless.

"Pearls too!" she added without missing a beat.

He sighed and held the other pinky out, which Pearl delicately linked hers around.

"Now promise me you won't tell Daddy!"

"I promise I won't tell—" Apollo faltered when he nearly robotically repeated Trucy's exact words, "…Mr. Wright."

Trucy gave a satisfied puff of breath through her nose and a curt nod before slowly unfurling her finger from his.

"Pearl," Trucy gave him a serious expression and drew herself up for dramatic emphasis, "…is a _spirit medium_."

Apollo half-heartedly gestured at Pearl's attire.

"I kind of figured," he glanced around at the flickering lights, "…you aren't conjuring anything, are you?"

"_Channeling_, Polly. Ever heard of it?" Trucy corrected.

"I know a bit," he rubbed at the back of his neck.

It had been inevitable to learn a bit about it from studying Phoenix's cases when he was younger, and of course there had been a short-lived spirit medium craze that had ebbed in and out with Phoenix's law career, but he had to admit his knowledge on the subject was shaky.

"Pearl here's the _best_ spirit medium _ever_," Trucy bragged, hands on her hips and her head held high.

She was radiating enough pride for the both of them, in true Trucy fashion.

This was probably for the best, seeing as how Pearl responded by pulling at the hem of her robes and biting her thumb, "I'm not _the_ best…"

Trucy rounded on her, "Yes you are! Even Aunt Maya says so!"

Maya…why did that name sound familiar?

Pearl looked absolutely scandalized, "M-mystic Maya only says that because she's too dignified to brag about herself…"

Her face was a little pink with embarrassment as Trucy privately shook her head, as if Pearl had just said something ironic.

She sighed, "I don't even know why you insisted on all this fancy set-up! Apollo probably wouldn't have caught us if we'd just done a straight up channeling. You've done them plenty of times before."

Pearl looked at the floor, "But I don't want anything to go wrong; I want to make absolutely sure this works. This is really important…"

Apollo's intuition sparked at this point.

"Trucy," he started slowly, seriously, "Don't these sorts of things usually take place at temples?"

The girls glanced nervously at each other. For the first time, even Trucy was looking properly guilty.

"I don't want Pearls to get in trouble with Aunt Maya," Trucy's thumbs went round each other, "a-and she never hides anything from Daddy, so…she can't really know about this either."

Maya.

Maya…

The name was definitely ringing some bells, but something still wasn't quite clicking.

"And just _why_ can't Mr. Wright know about this?"

There was silence, then Trucy took a deep breath.

"I…want to try contacting my mother," it was so uncharacteristic to see Trucy struggling to find her voice, "But Daddy says he wants to wait until I'm older before we try."

And then there was more silence as Apollo digested this information. Really, what was the proper response for something like this?

It wasn't really his place to prove commentary on Phoenix's parenting methods, and he wasn't quite sure what to say. It didn't help that the situation was so atypical.

"I think I can handle it though!" Trucy exclaimed, trying to move things forward again.

Surprisingly, Pearl had something to say, "Maybe we shouldn't do this Trucy. I'm sure you dad has a reason. And, and…,"she was back to biting her thumb, "I still feel really bad about lying to Mystic Maya…"

Maya…

_Maya_.

_(__**Fey.**__)_

Apollo's eyes opened wide as he finally made the connection, "Maya. _Mystic Maya Fey_?!"

Pearl jump, surprised, "Um, y-yes…?"

Trucy puffed her cheeks, "Polly, keep it down! Pearls isn't used to you yet."

"Oh! S-sorry. Um, so wait," his brain made several more connections, "That means you're…Pearl Fey, right?"

She gave him a slightly confused nod, "D-do you know me from somewhere?"

"Just what I know from some of Mr. Wright's cases—the ones that involved the Feys at least. You, Maya, and—" Apollo suddenly stopped himself short.

_No wonder_ Pearl had reminded him of Iris.

"Trucy," he said carefully, "How important is this to you?"

He was expecting an immediate answer, so he was surprised when she paused and seriously gave it some thought.

There was that little scuffle of the feet, the barest of turning her knees into each other as she looked at the ground and though real hard. Whatever was going through her head, she seemed to make her mind up at around the point where she bent at the ankles and balanced on the outer edges of her feet.

With the smartest of snaps, she straightened her ankles and spine with purpose, the soles of her shoes slapping resolutely against the floor.

She looked Apollo straight in the eye, "Absolutely. I can't think of anything _more_ important."

With a nod of understanding—one for each of the girls—Apollo reached up and straightened his tie with the air of someone getting down to business.

"Alright then. Let's do this."

* * *

><p>Apollo felt a slap to the back of his head.<p>

"Ow! Trucy!"

"No peeking."

He opened his eyes to stare at his assistant incredulously.

"But I wasn't—" he was cut off by yet another sharp slap to the head.

"You are now."

Before he could even come up with a smart retort, there was a large "shh" from Pearl. It was by far the most aggressive thing she'd ever uttered so far, which was saying something.

"I'm trying to concentrate," she said shortly.

An awkward silence fell back over the three, accentuated by the low-cast and flickering candles. Pearl remained stock-still, tension personified as she…did whatever it was she was doing. She was bent at the knees with her legs tucked neatly underneath herself, hands clasped together to form some sort of spiritual gesture. Apollo was doing his best at balancing to imitate this—at Trucy's insisting—but it wasn't as easy as it looked. About twenty minutes ago his legs had been screaming at him to sit normally—at this point they were starting to grow numb from the ache. Beside him, Trucy's head was bowed low, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands clenched in her lap.

Apollo fidgeted with his bracelet for a bit, waiting for something, anything to happen.

It didn't.

"Um…Pearl…?"

Trucy hissed at him to be quiet.

He continued regardless, "It's been half an hour. Shouldn't something have happened by now?"

For the first time, Pearl's shoulders slackened, and her careful visage of concentration was broken by the way she worriedly bit at her lip.

"I…," her eyes fluttered open, "am having a bit of trouble find her…"

"Is it Polly? We can make him leave."

Pearl brought her thumb to her lip, "No, that's not it..."

Trucy's legs unfurled and she crawled the few feet between her and Pearl, a softer expression adorning her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Pearl offered a reassuring smile, "No, that's not it either. I just…things feel a little…weird. I just can't seem to find you mom, anywhere."

Apollo searched his brain for something, some piece of information that was tugging at the back of his mind.

He snapped his fingers when it hit him, "What if she's already being channeled somewhere else? Like that one time with Dahlia Hawthorne."

Pearl blinked at him, a little taken aback.

Apollo coughed sheepishly, "I-it was in one of the case files I read."

She let out a small, forced breath and closed her eyes, as if remembering something unpleasant, and he felt a little bad for bringing it up.

"No, that's not it either—I'd remember the feeling. It's more like…Oh Trucy, I'm sorry, I just can't sense her _at all_. It's almost like…as if…"

Pearl trailed off as she considered something.

"Trucy, I think there's a reason your dad didn't want us to do this. Your mom, I think—"

She stopped mid-sentence and her eyes went wide, staring at something over the top of Apollo's head. A sudden chill went down the defense attorney's spine.

He didn't even need to turn around—the distinct, low voice that hit his ears was enough to tell him what Pearl was looking at.

"Mr. Justice. Care to tell me what happened here?"

Apollo could hear the faint sound of tapping, of Phoenix softly beating out an expectant rhythm against the fabric of his sleeve, one that seemed to demand an immediate reply.

Trucy was quicker to answer, "It's not Apollo's fault! I-I made him do it."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "You..._made_ him? You, the fifteen-year-old girl, made Apollo—the _adult_—do this?"

Apollo turned to face his employer—wincing as he coaxed his legs out of the position they were stuck in, "No, Mr. Wright. I let her. This is my responsibility."

With some difficulty, he managed to stand himself up.

He tried to remain calm and collected, but he could feel his hands shaking as he faced his boss, "Trucy said she wanted to try contacting her mother. I told her she could."

His palms were slicking over with sweat, and his pulse was beating faster. This wasn't just his employer he was addressing—he was addressing Phoenix as a Trucy's father, a parent, who had laid down a rule, one that Apollo had knowingly violated.

There was a lot more at stake here than just his job.

It was his dignity however, not his sense of self-preservation, that spoke for him, "I accept _full_ responsibility."

To his surprise, Phoenix merely chucked darkly into his hoodie, "Pearl got you with the puppy eyes, didn't she?"

Apollo was stunned, "Mr. Wright, I—"

"It's not Pearl's fault either!" Trucy cut in, "I told her to come, even though she didn't want to!"

Phoenix just sighed, "Trucy, I know you meant well, but you know how I felt about this."

Apollo felt himself drawing up even higher, his courage climbing, "Mr. Wright, maybe I'm out of line here, but I think Trucy has a right to speak with her mother. Growing up, not knowing who your parents are…," Apollo coughed, pausing a bit to let something weighing on his mind dissipate, and for a moment it almost seemed like it wasn't just Trucy he was talking about, "Most people can't get closure like this—especially if the parent in question is dead."

"Except she's not, is she?"

It came so quick, so sharp, and suddenly all eyes were on Pearl.

It was such a loaded statement, the kind that came straight out of left-field and made a complete turnabout of the situation. It was obvious what Pearl had said. Everyone was clear on what these words had _meant_, and yet…no, that couldn't possibly be right.

_(…__**what**__.)_

Before too long all the eyes in the room gravitated to Trucy. She was pale as a ghost, her eyes wide and unblinking.

Her hands were clenched together at her chest, "Pearls, what…what're you saying?"

With a sort of composure that Apollo hadn't expected her to possess, Pearl placed a gentle hand on her best friend's shoulder, "She's not dead, Trucy. Your mom's alive. Isn't that right, Mr. Nick?" Pearl turned to face Phoenix without batting an eyelash, "That's why I can't feel her spirit anywhere."

"Is that true, Daddy?" there was a sort of cracked edge to Trucy's voice, one that buried itself painfully in the chests of everyone present.

Phoenix did not bother delaying his answer. Misgiving tone aside, he did not hesitate or try to sugar coat things—to do so would've been an insult to his daughter.

"Yes, it is."

"And you knew about this? The whole time?"

"Not the whole time, but long enough."

And then the very thing that everyone had been dreading happened.

Trucy began to cry.

Before anyone else had time to say or do anything, Pearl started to move. With the swiftest of strides, Pearl was moving across the room, her arm was moving up as she pushed her sleeve up, and without even saying a word she was slapping Phoenix flush across the cheek.

The previous image of Pearl that had stored itself in Apollo's mind—that of a timid, tiny girl—instantly vanished without a trace.

Phoenix staggered back a bit, both hands nursing his face, "Seven years and you've still got that snap in your wrist."

A wince passed across his face as he opened his mouth and experimentally moved his jaw about. Pearl was shaking, giving Phoenix the fiercest glare she'd ever given. Trucy was quietly hiccupping and trying—unsuccessfully—to hold back the tears.

And Apollo—well, he was still just trying to sort out what had happened.

Currently he was just standing off to the side of things, feeling rather out of place and superfluous to this whole matter.

"I…," Apollo spurted out awkwardly, "Well I'll just...let you guys work this out amongst yourselves."

When he reached the door, he expected Phoenix to step aside and let him go back to his office.

He didn't.

"You're not going anywhere Apollo. Trust me when I say you'll want to stick around for what happens next."

Apollo gulped.

_(I am __**so**__ fired.)_

* * *

><p>Klavier opened the door to a rather vacant-faced Apollo.<p>

"…Ah, Apollo. What—"

"I just found out who my biological mother is."

A moment of silence passed as Klavier digested this information. Then without any further hesitation, he pulled Apollo into his arms and shut the door. Apollo seemed dazed, almost limp in his arms, and for a while, there was nothing but the sound of deep breathing.

Klavier began rubbing circles where he knew it relaxed Apollo the most, right above the belt line, on either side of his spine, "Are you alright?"

There was another pause as Apollo tried to figure out how to verbalize what he was thinking, "…You know, I think I'm okay."

To Klavier's surprise, he felt two arms snake around his waist, quick and smooth, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And it felt so _good_.

Apollo's arms seemed to rest perfectly snug against the curve of his back, but even more importantly was how _sure_ his hold was, no trace of indecision or uncertainty. This was something Apollo _chose_.

"Yeah," came the young attorney's voice again, "I think I'll be fine. I guess I'm mostly just shocked over who she _is_, rather than the fact that I suddenly have my mother in my life."

Klavier pulled back ever so slightly, eyebrows raised, "You mean it's someone you already know?"

Apollo was silent for a moment, head buried in Klavier's chest before lifting it to reveal a completely serious expression, "It's Lamiroir."

It was, for the record, _very_ hard to catch Klavier off guard, so when his eyes went wide and he let loose a loud, "What?_!_" Apollo couldn't help but feel oddly satisfied somehow.

"And she's Trucy's mother, too."

Klavier looked at him incredulously, "Which would make her your…"

"Half-sister, actually," Apollo finished, tightening his hold around Klavier's waist.

They stood there for a bit, just looking at each other before Klavier moved a hand to the back of Apollo's head, guiding it back to his chest, "Well, small world, ja?"

"You mean you believe me?" Apollo's voice was bright, and he sounded so happy that Klavier thought his chest might burst.

It was all he could do to not kiss his face all over—he settled instead for a single one on the crown of Apollo's head, "It's _you_, isn't it? So of course I believe you."

Klavier could literally feel Apollo smiling against his chest, which prompted him to start running his fingers through the young man's hair, "When did you find out?"

"Just now. I came over as soon as Mr. Wright told us."

Klavier scratched at the nape of Apollo's neck, earning him a few appreciative hums, "So have you actually spoken to her yet?"

He could feel him shake his head against his chest, "I'm supposed to be meeting her at the office in ten minutes."

With a start, Klavier pulled back a bit, holding a slightly stunned Apollo by the shoulders, "What?! What're you doing here then?! You should be over there!"

Before the defense attorney had any time to react, the prosecutor had turned him around, opened the door, and had begun leading him out into the hallway.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Apollo's hand shot out to grab the doorframe, "There was a reason I came over!"

With a little difficulty, since they were at this point squished together in the door and Klavier was still pressing on him, Apollo turned around and back up a bit to put some space between them.

He reached out and took one of Klavier's hands in his, "I wanted you to come with me, so I could introduce you."

Klavier blinked, "But Mein Forehead, Lamiroir and I already quite familiar. We were just speaking the other day, in fact."

"No, I mean," here Apollo's hands squeezed around Klavier's and he looked up with full, serious, eyes, "I want to _introduce_ you."

It only took a moment for this to register.

"Oh!" and then softer, "_Oh._"

Apollo smiled simply at Klavier, so expectantly, so _openly_ and wide, the prosecutor had to resist the urge to press his own smile to it.

"Alright then," he said, stepping forward and closing the door behind him, not once letting go of Apollo, "Let's go."


	14. Chapter 14

Only a few more chapters left! That is, if all goes according to plan… +_+

* * *

><p>Apollo and Klavier arrived by motorcycle about five minutes late. This proved to be alright, since Lamiroir was running even later. She was apparently making a side-stop on the way over.<p>

Trucy had stopped crying long ago, but Apollo couldn't help but notice the extra box of tissues that Phoenix had subtly placed on the lobby table.

"I'm sorry I hit you, Mr. Nick," Pearl offered her apology from the couch.

Phoenix replied from the other side of the room, where he was tending to Mr. Charley, "That's okay Pearls. It wouldn't be the first time, and I can't say I didn't have it coming."

Pearl turned around in her seat, so that her knees dug into the cushions and her hands were gripping the top of the coach, "But you didn't deserve it!" she paused for a moment, chewing on the tip of her thumb, "…okay, maybe a little, yeah. It wasn't really your fault though! It was because of this Lamiroir person."

Trucy, who had been making light conversation with Klavier over by the piano, had something to say to this, "It wasn't her fault either! She'd lost her memory!"

"But didn't she get it back after that case? That was a long time ago! Why hasn't she said anything?"

Phoenix tapped the spout of the watering can against the edge of Charley's pot, "It didn't all come back at once you know. She's been taking this time to 'remember herself,' as she put it. There's also the matter of her surgery."

Apollo sat up straighter, "Surgery? Then you don't mean—"

There was a squeal from Trucy, "She can see again?!"

Phoenix made his way to the couches, setting the water can next to the tissue boxes, "Not quite yet—her eyes are still healing from the operation."

He sat down across from Apollo, next to Pearl, who gave him a look of skepticism, "I…I see."

Trucy sidled up on Pearl's other side, "Come on Pearly, don't be like that."

"I already saw you cry once today, Trucy, I don't want it happening again."

Trucy immediately wrapped her arms around Pearl's middle, "She's really nice, I promise! You'll love her!"

Apollo leaned back and closed his eyes as a familiar presence pressed itself to his side.

He felt a warm breath on his ear, "How're you holding up?"

Apollo's face turned slightly towards Klavier's, eyes still closed, and the side of his forehead brushed against the prosecutor's, "Mmm. A little nervous, actually."

"Why?"

"It's just…I'm a grown man, Klavier. I'm afraid this isn't going to be anything but awkward. What if I can't connect with her? I'm not sure I'll even be able to call her anything other than just Lamiroir."

Klavier slipped an arm around Apollo's waist, resting his hand on the opposite hip, "It'll be fine."

Apollo took a deep breath. Klavier's soft voice in his ear was like a tether grounding his nerves together, which was especially helpful now, since he was finding it hard not to focus on the fact that all his previous interactions with this woman so far involved him heckling and pressing her on the witness stand. Not exactly son-of-the-year material.

Apollo's eyes snapped open as a thought came to him, "I've yelled at my own mother."

When Klavier only gave him laughter, his brow furrowed.

It was light-hearted, but even so, "It's not funny."

Klavier's voice was in his ear again, smooth as ever, "You're worrying about it too much. Lamiroir is an understanding and forgiving woman."

Another thought occurred to him, "You know her better than I do."

Klavier didn't laugh this time, but his smile remained as he conceded with a simple, "Mm," before tracing comforting circles on Apollo's hip with his thumb, "Does that bother you?"

Apollo gave it some thought,"…Not really."

He rubbed at the skin above his bracelet and gave it a little more thought, "Maybe a little…tell me about her."

"Well," Klavier scooted closer so that they were touching from knee to hip, "she's very kind. And her voice is unlike any other I've ever heard."

"I knew that," Apollo said, but a sense of appreciation washed over him nonetheless.

At the mention of Lamiroir's voice, a sort of memory came over him, a sound in his ears that only he could hear. It was smooth and sweet…his mother's voice, no song he'd ever heard her sing, and yet it was familiar somehow. Not sultry, like the Guitar's Serenade, but more soothing, something he could fall asleep to.

He felt a little calmer, "Tell me more."

"She has an incredibly even temper. Unlike someone I know."

Apollo elbowed him in the stomach.

"Ach! You're only proving my point, Mein Forehead," Klavier sounded hurt, but only playfully so.

Apollo just absent-mindedly pulled at the hem of Klavier's sleeve and sighed.

It was a strange thing, really, if he thought about it.

Amnesiac mothers, magical half-sisters, and prosecutor rock-star boyfriends—and here was Apollo in the middle of it all, feeling rather ordinary and not quite sure how he'd gotten so tangled up in such extraordinary company.

Was this how it was always going to be?

Neurotic clients, and spirit medium best friends, and having _Phoenix _for a boss. That last one alone could be enough to drive anyone up the wall.

Was this what it was like? Having a family?

Apollo had been in good company at the orphanage, but the thing about orphanages was that people often came and went. Even the matrons had changed in and out over the years.

In the span of less than a year, Apollo had gone from being orphaned to having a sister, a mother, and a…Phoenix. The jury was still out on whether this was a good thing or not.

And of course, there was—

"Klavier?"

"Hmmm?

"Thanks for being here."

Klavier moved in and kissed him on the temple, "This is important, ja? Of course I'm here."

"No, not just today, I mean…oh, never mind, it's okay."

Apollo's chest felt light, and in a moment of affection, he found Klavier's hand at his side and squeezed it.

When Klavier laughed, Apollo looked up to see him merely smiling.

"…what?"

Klavier made a motion of the head, pointed his eyes in the direction of the couch opposite.

Apollo shifted his gaze to see Trucy and her father, both giving him identical mischievous looks, grins as sly as foxes. He gulped and felt his face heat up.

In between them Pearls was staring, mouth slightly open in shock.

"Are you…" she looked straight at them with a look so intense and curious that Apollo unconsciously leaned back a bit from the force of it, "Are you special someones?!"

"S-special _what_?"

Klavier just smiled and tightened his hold on Apollo's waist, not even missing a beat, "Yes, Mein Forehead is very special to me."

Pearl's look of absolute delight slowly melted into one of confusion, "Your… forehead is…?"

The blush on Apollo's face matched the exact shade of his vest. Why did he always wear this color again? Oh, right, because he couldn't afford a second suit.

"Me…he means me…" he muttered, almost inaudibly.

He was practically dying under the smirk that Phoenix was beaming at him—he could see something, some witty smartass remark forming on the tip of Phoenix's tongue. Phoenix opened his mouth, and Apollo narrowed his eyes in response, but before his mentor had even finished drawing his breath, the sound of the bell above the entrance rang softly throughout the room, and everyone's necks instinctively trained towards the door.

The door swung slowly open, and Apollo's heart pounded, because _(maybe, maybe it's not her—maybe it's just a customer)_, until finally the door creaked to a stop to reveal—

"Machi!" Trucy stood up in recognition, smile warm and welcoming.

The young boy flushed in embarrassment, gave a conversational cough and nod and said, "Please to be meeting you. Again."

Then he quickly averted his gaze and leaned back out in the hallway, as if reaching for something, and Apollo swallowed because it occurred to him in that split-second that Machi was about to lead Lamiroir _(no, you can't call her that)_, his _mother_ into the room.

He just saw her hand first—slender, petite, clasped tightly against Machi's—then flowing fabric, so beautiful and elegant—everything about her was elegant. Was he really related to someone this pretty?

And then there she was, standing fully over the threshold, parted lips enough to convey all the hesitation and fear beneath bandaged eyes.

Apollo's breath caught in his chest.

His gaze lingered on the bandages as everything was quiet for a moment.

Lamiroir looked momentarily speechless, obviously nervous, because even without sight it was easy to sense that she was currently the focus of the entire room.

"I…I'm here. Where are my children?"

And that was it, because that was all that was needed. Lamiroir was a mother with only one thing on her mind, and anything else would've sounded scripted.

It was the moment of truth, and Apollo's legs refused to do anything about it.

_(Get up—come on, __**move**__)_

It was like trying to motivate bricks into moving.

Trucy, in what Apollo would later attribute as the bravest thing she'd ever done, stood up before him. Without a word, with just the softest of steps as she practically glided across the room with all the inherited skill of a stage performer, she crossed the distance straight into Lamiroir's arms. It was a soft collision—Trucy didn't even hesitate to throw her arms around her mother, didn't even try to stop the tears.

In that moment, Apollo felt the smallest he'd ever felt.

Looking at the two of them, it just seemed so _obvious_—Trucy was without a doubt her mother's daughter, brown hair and full cheekbones, and that same sort of prettiness radiating off of both of them. It seemed almost painful that no one had made the connection before now.

Apollo found himself doubting whether or not he could fit himself into the picture.

He could feel Klavier's hand squeezing at his hip, felt him move in to whisper, "_Go_."

There was a light pressure on the small of his back, propelling him forward, and before he knew it his legs were unlocking and he was moving towards Trucy and Lamirior.

He gulped as he searched for something to say, but found only a dry throat. He still wasn't sure how he should _address_ Lamiroir—_(Augh, I'm already half-way across the room!)_—maybe he'd just open his mouth and go with the first thing that felt natural. There it was on the tip of his tongue, the first letter of a name forming as he opened and shaped his mouth—

"Apollo."

He mentally started screaming at himself.

Trying to play it off and save himself, he quickly said, "I-It's me, Apollo."

Pure joy and disbelief pulled at Lamiroir's visible features.

Quietly, as if afraid she might awaken from a dream at any moment, she spoke, "My son."

When she blindly reached a hand out, Apollo instinctively met her halfway and clasped it in his, one hand firmly in hers with the other resting gently on her forearm.

There was a slight clinking sound, of metal on metal, and when Apollo looked down he saw it, identical in every way to the one around his own wrist— the same in more than just the metallic copper-tone hue, the same indications of attachment in the glow of regular shine and polish, because they both _meant_ the same thing to their owners.

His chest tightened and he swallowed.

Without thinking, he choked out, "H-Hi…mom."

Trucy, who had been embracing their mother this whole time, now extended her arm out in an invitation to include Apollo. He wasted no time stepping forward to wrap an arm around each of them.

"Y-You're crying, Polly," sniffed Trucy, unable to hold back the tears herself.

"Sh-shut up," Apollo squeezed them both, "I only cry when it's important."


	15. Chapter 15

When Apollo came into work the next day, he was so shocked at what he saw that he very _nearly _left the building to confirm that _yes_, it did still say 'Wright Anything Agency' on the front.

"Where did all our stuff go?!"

A ruffled looking Trucy, sans cape and gloves and wearing her hair up in messy pins, emerged from the supply room.

"Calm down Polly, geez," she took a moment to let out a considerable puff of breath as she stretched her arms above her head, "And it's not _our_ stuff, it's my—well, I guess it is our stuff now, in the sense that it's mine and mom's."

"Okay, well then where did it _go_?"

Trucy flashed a smile and dramatically stepped to the side, sweeping her arm in a show of the room behind her, "Tada! Behold! My very own office!"

Apollo's hand immediately flew up to smack his forehead, "Trucy, you can't just—!"

He took a step forward and poked his head into the room.

It was like two opposing factions of magicians had set up camp and gone to war. it also looked like there had been no survivors.

There were hats and hoops, and all sorts of odds and ends, all stacked up on top of each other in a big conglomerate mess. Apollo instinctively grabbed at the door frame for fear of being sucked in by the absolute _mass_ of it all. The sheer amount of magical paraphernalia gathered all in one place almost gave off the impression that it was sentient.

"Oh god, I think some of it's _moving_."

"Polly, you idiot, that's _Machi_."

Apollo looked closer and found that indeed, blending in with the ruffles of some of the costumes was the small figure of Machi, white, poofy sleeves pushed up to his shoulders. He turned quietly in their direction, slowly gathering the box at his feet in his arms. He carefully began picking his way over, meticulously carving a path towards the door comprised of wherever there happened to be space on the floor.

Apollo turned to Trucy, "You can't just move all your stuff in here."

She crossed her arms, "Daddy said I could."

"It's the supply room!...Please tell me the supplies aren't still buried somewhere under all this…"

There was a slight coughing noise and Apollo turned back to see that Machi had finally made it to the door.

With a small smile he made a gesture with the box in his arms, "I am finishing with the sorting. It is not taking long…"

Trucy grinned, "Well there ya go, Polly! All the paper and pencils you might possibly need. _This_ can be our new supply room!"

"That's a _box_."

"Supply box then," when Apollo opened his mouth to object, she immediately overrode him, "Don't bother complaining! You remember how messy the lobby was—we can't have mom tripping over stuff while her eyes are healing. I _had_ to move everything."

Apollo sighed and hung his head, the bridge of his nose pinched between thumb and middle finger.

He took a breath and then graciously accepted the box from Machi, "Thank you."

Machi just smiled at him, eyes wide and warm, which caught Apollo a little off guard. It was something he was still getting used to, this sudden openness from the young boy. He was still overall rather quiet, but Apollo was quickly learning that this was out of a natural inclination to reservation, not because he was hiding something; the times he did speak up indicated a distinct sense of warmness and honesty, something Apollo felt suited him, despite his first impression of him as a scared boy shivering behind prison glass.

Or, perhaps, not in spite of, but _because_ of this reason.

In a moment of endearment, Apollo patted the top of Machi's head a bit and was relieved to see the boy's shoulder rise with an even wider smile, obviously pleased.

"Umm, Mr. Yoo-stice," he looked up at him with a sort of admiration that was unexpectedly refreshing for Apollo, "I am just now wondering, if there is a thing I can be doing for you?"

Apollo blinked and tilted his head a bit, "I'm sorry?"

Machi straightened a bit, an eagerness weaving itself into his movements, "I am working here now—I am trying to be of a use."

Apollo's eyebrows raised, not in mockery or suspicion, but in genuine surprise.

He turned to Trucy, "Oh really now?"

She bounced a bit, enthusiastic, "Yup! He's taking over Dad's gig at the Borscht Bowl. Not the poker bit, obviously, just the piano part. And! And! Guess what!" in her excitement she clapped her hands a few times, "Mom's gonna work here too! She's joining my magic act!"

Apollo couldn't help but smile along with Trucy—her joy wasn't anything if not infectious, "Well, um…Machi? I don't really have anything for you to do right now. But we do have a piano—you can practice on it if you want."

For the first time, Machi's smile waned a bit, "Ah, the piano. She is needing some adjustments. The tuning is, how you say…," he fished around his limited vocabulary for a more polite alternative, but upon coming up empty settled without remorse on, "bad."

"Oh. I suppose we can have someone come in and look at it."

"Many thanks, Mr. Yoo-stice!"

Apollo tried to hide the wince, "…you can just call me Apollo if you want."

"Apollo…" Machi tried it once, letting the syllables roll over in his mouth.

It still had too distinct of a sound, a little rounder and longer than his name was meant to sound like, but it was certainly better than 'Yoo-stice.'

Trucy chimed in, "You should just call him Polly—it's easier. That's what I do."

"I'd rather _neither_ of you do that, actually."

"Aw, come on, why not? Especially since, you know, _considering_…"

Trucy gave him one of her _looks_, the kind that made the gears in his head start spinning.

He narrowed his eyes, "Considering _what_?"

She giggled like a school girl with a secret, and Machi suddenly gave her a worried side-glance before whispering, "_Trucy_…"

Apollo didn't need the pinch at his wrist to tell him that the two were keeping something from him, but it certainly helped.

"Trucy—"

"Okay, okay, no need to twist my arm!" she blurted out, and despite the fact that he had yet to do anything of the sort, she was hopping up and down and exclaiming, "Mom's adopting Machi!"

She'd said it all so fast that Apollo could scarcely absorb this new information, and for a moment he just stood there with his mouth slightly ajar.

Machi gave a sheepish look as he pulled his sleeves down, "Is true."

To be fair, Apollo's shock was fairly warranted—in the span of two days, his immediate family of one had quadrupled in size, "Which means…"

Trucy, on the other hand, seemed to be taking the news and running with it, swinging an arm around an embarrassed Machi's shoulders, "Yup! I get a big brother, _and_ a little one!"

* * *

><p>"Well, I mean, I guess it makes sense. He's never left her side as far as I know, and I don't think he's got any parents of his own."<p>

Apollo continued typing up his report , despite the added difficulty of doing so while balancing an overly affectionate Klavier sprawled over the back of his chair. The prosecutor had made himself rather comfortable by draping his arms over Apollo's shoulders and snuggling right into the crook of his neck.

He gave a lazy acknowledgement of, "Mmhmm."

The sound vibrated pleasantly against Apollo's neck, and the attorney had to actively ignore the way the tingling sensation spilled down his spine.

He focused on typing, "It's just…I don't know, I'm getting the sense that he really admires me. When he looks up at me, it really feels like he's looking _up_ to me."

Apollo had to momentarily cease typing as Klavier pressed himself further against him, "Does that bother you?"

He shifted the prosecutor back with a roll of his shoulder, "It doesn't bother me so much as it…feels weird? I think he really just appreciates what I did for him during his trial, but it's not like I did anything special—I just did what was right."

"Doing the right thing is an…attractive quality, ja?"

Apollo ignored the slight bite in the way Klavier said 'attractive' and continued with his report.

He found it harder to ignore when Klavier pressed a kiss right under his ear.

"Klavier…" he warned, trying to get on with his work.

Klavier gave a murmur of recognition, but otherwise continued trailing soft kisses across Apollo's jaw.

"Klavier, you're distracting me."

The prosecutor finished his trail of kisses on the corner of Apollo's mouth, lingering slowly for a bit, "So it's working?"

Apollo rolled his shoulders back a second time, this time a little more forcefully, causing Klavier's arms to bounce up and off. Undeterred, Klavier stepped around the side of the chair, picked up the keyboard in the middle of Apollo's sentence, and sat right in front of the screen.

Apollo leaned back into his chair, arms crossed, "_Really_?"

"When was the last time you kissed me?"

Apollo sighed, then stood up after a moment.

Placing his hands on the desk, one on either side of Klavier, he leaned in slowly, "Is that it? One kiss and you'll let me work?"

Klavier looked at him with half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile, "If you make it a good one, ja?"

Feeling a little bold, Apollo responded with a similar expression and leaned in even further, till their faces were mere centimeters apart, "Alright then—close your eyes."

Klavier's eyes slid closed without question, and Apollo—heart pounding a bit—almost felt guilty in the face of such open trust, but not enough to stop him from gripping Klavier by the shoulders and lightly tapping a kiss to his nose.

Klavier's eyes snapped open, "Nein! You're such a tease!"

Apollo smacked the hand that was sneaking towards the reports on his left, before picking them up himself, "I'm a fast learner."

As if some internal switch had been flipped, Klavier just smiled slyly and said, "Hmmm. I wonder what else I could teach you then, ja?"

What would've been a cough lodged itself in his throat and Apollo flushed red, "Wh-whatever, I need to go to the courthouse anyway."

He awkwardly began shoving the papers into his briefcase, backed by the playful humming coming from Klavier. The prosecutor was leaning back on his palms, pleased with himself.

"Guess I should make myself scarce then, huh?" Klavier hopped off the desk.

Apollo shrugged, "I shouldn't be gone too long; you can stay if you want. Mr. Wright knows you're here and you can use the computer to do any work."

Klavier shook his head and shrugged his jacket onto his shoulders, "Mmm, I should head back before the fräulein detective has reason to yell at me."

"Ema yells at you regardless of whether she has a reason," Apollo snapped his briefcase shut before moving in to give the prosecutor a proper kiss.

Klavier was more than welcome to receive it, "Ah, point taken. Perhaps I should take my time then…"

He began wrapping an arm around Apollo's hips, lightly touching a thumb to the attorney's chin.

"No, uh-uh," Apollo immediately thrust a hand between them, "Unlike you, _I've_ got forms that need turning in _today_."

Klavier looked unconvincingly hurt, "Spoil-sport."

Apollo headed for the door, "Some of us actually take our jobs seriously, thank you."

"I'm hurt Mein Forehead, I take my job very seriously."

"The last time I checked, seducing me wasn't part of your job description."

Klavier smirked, "Not on paper, it isn't."

Apollo rolled his eyes and opened the door, right before hesitating.

He looked back, suddenly a bit wistful, "Although, if there's nothing you're doing tomorrow…"

Klavier's whole demeanor lit up, and his shoulders perked, "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"More like…business I have to take care of. And I'd be bringing someone along with us, "Apollo rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish, "But it would mean a lot of you were there."

"So a business date?"

Apollo gave an involuntary smile, small in size, but full of affection, "It's a business date. You are free tomorrow though, right? It has to be tomorrow."

Klavier nodded, "What's so special about tomorrow?"

Apollo just smiled wider, a touch of mystery about him, "It's a Tuesday."


	16. Chapter 16

"We do weddings up in Kurain, you know. You guys should visit sometime."

To make matters worse, Klavier actually _laughed_.

"Pay attention to the road!" Apollo squawked, although it was obviously a poor attempt to re-direct the conversation, since Klavier's steering remained as smooth as ever.

Phoenix had _warned_ him about this—why hadn't he listened?

"I've always wanted to see the temples up there, but it's not exactly the kind of place bands go on their tours."

"Oh! You two should come anytime you feel like going on a romantic getaway! We can make a room up for you—it can be all cozy, just the two of you."

Pearl had surely meant it in the most innocent of ways, but Apollo still couldn't help but feel a heated embarrassment at the thought of him and Klavier stowed away in the snowy mountains, all alone amidst the quiet cold with no-one to bother them, bundled together to keep warm under blankets and—

_(Aughgarngh)_

He sank deeper into his seat as the heat flushed not only through his face, but up the lower half of his back.

Klavier chuckled, "Would it really be that terrible to spend some time alone with me?"

"It…might be nice…" Apollo said, very quietly, staring resolutely at the glove compartment ahead.

Pearl giggled freely in the backseat, "The back of your neck is red, Mr. Justice."

Apollo just sank down even deeper. He was practically _radiating_ heat.

Pearl was giddy and oblivious, even going so far as to lightly clap her hands in mirth, "It must be nice, being in love."

The ensuing silence probably only lasted a few beats, but that was all it took for a charged tension to wind itself up Apollo's spine before settling over the expanse of his shoulders. Was he…supposed to say something to that? He cautiously glanced to the side.

Klavier's eyes were trained dutifully on the road, and he seemed as calm as Apollo was uneasy. After a moment, Klavier broke sight with the traffic to return the gaze, just a slight turn of the head, mildly questioning. Apollo immediately turned away, a jerk-knee reaction that left him feeling foolish.

Klavier's voice came steady and even, "It is nice."

All at once, his bracelet tightened against his wrist.

Something—the pounding in his chest perhaps—told him it wasn't reacting to Klavier.

* * *

><p>Iris was not naturally strong-willed.<p>

She had not been born with any inclination towards asserting her own self-interests—the resolution she displayed now had been forcibly cultivated in the aftermath of the _mess_ that was anything and _everything_ that she had let Dahlia put her through.

Serving all those years as a matron and dealing with a house full of children might've also factored into the firm expression she was now presenting the visitor at her doorstep.

"Go home. Now."

"I cannot, in good conscious, do that."

She sighed and closed her eyes, brow furrowed. Their conversation thus far comprised of only those two sentences, and yet everything about the inevitably oncoming argument had already been communicated in those short lines, and Iris steeled herself against the panic rising within her.

Maybe she was making this into a bigger deal than it needed to be—maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just sit and have a simple talk with Pearl.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Because it would actually be very nice—

_(Very wonderful)_, she let herself admit

—if she could spend even a minute with this girl.

Pearl was standing a ways behind her former charge, beside a gentleman she recognized from reading up on Apollo's cases (she tried to quell the urge to jump to any conclusions as to why he had dragged along a legal figure to this occasion). She had yet to say a word, and no one had actually introduced her as such, but there was no doubt it was her. Even barring the acolyte robes (very clearly Kurain), there was no mistaking the round Fey cheeks, the same curious eyes, and Iris had to breathe deep when her chest thumped painfully, because she was so _big _now, a proper lady, had it really been seven years already?

Just one _minute_ with this girl, and Iris knew there was a no way she could keep the resolve she had carefully crafted all these years.

"Go home," she repeated, perhaps a little less coldly than before, but she made up for it by immediately turning around and proceeding to shut the door behind her.

She felt the door jerk to a stop as Apollo shot his arm out to grab it by the side.

"Iris, you're running away and you know it."

"Apollo, you know why I can't—"

"I know why you can't—it doesn't matter. You have to do this."

Almost simultaneously, they both glanced over at where Klavier and Pearl were waiting patiently. Klavier was leaned against the hood of his car, presumably calming a fidgeting Pearl, who could tell even from a distance that negotiations were going sour.

Apollo took this moment as an opportunity to open the door wider, gently, so as not to startle or offend Iris.

"I respected your decisions. I may not have understood them, but at least I supported you and respected your feelings. But things are different now."

Iris shot another look in Pearl's direction, something he was quick to take note of.

"I…have nothing to offer her."

"You're family! You have _everything_ to offer!"

A pained sort of expression pulled at her features.

"The Wrights are her family," she swallowed, "Maya Fey is…her family now."

Without missing a beat, Apollo took her by the hands, surprising her a bit, "Iris, I'm going to be frank. I brought Pearl here because I believe she has the right to meet with you at least once—but to be honest, I'm doing this for _your_ sake as well. It's true that even without you Pearl has a family, like she deserves—who do you have, Iris?"

He was expecting continued resistance, or in the absence of that, perhaps tears—Iris merely took a moment to look caught off guard. Then she briefly closed her eyes and…smiled. Apollo wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

Suddenly gentle, even affectionate, Iris palmed the side of his face, "Oh Apollo…you sell yourself and everyone here short."

He felt speechless.

After a moment Iris said, "I'll meet with her."

Apollo's heart soared, before she held up a hand and said resolutely, "On the condition that you answer a question."

"Yes…?" Apollo said with trepidation.

"…Why did you bring a prosecutor here with you?"

"Oh! Oh, uh…"Apollo could already feel the embarrassment showing on his face, "That's…Klavier. He's my boyfriend."

Iris blinked a couple times, her eyebrows raising inquisitively, "Oh?"

Apollo rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, "He's…very important to me. I wanted to show him where I grew up while you and Pearl talked."

Iris' smile suddenly widened, became more mischievous, "Apollo, you should've told me you were seeing someone!"

"Yes," Apollo said, exasperated, hoping to end this part of the conversation quickly.

"You should've known I'd want to meet him!"

"Yes," his shoulder began sagging a little.

"We should bake some cookies."

"Ye—_what_?"

"It's perfect! It's something we can all do together.

"Oh, well…I was thinking you'd want some alone time with—"

"Nonsense, everyone loves cookies! We can pass them out to the children later."

Before he could come up with a good counter-argument, she had bounded down the steps and was making her way over to the car.

Apollo leaned against the banister, letting out a resigned sigh, not even bothering to go after her—it was just easier this way.

* * *

><p>Klavier was no stranger to the "meet the parents" phase of a relationship. Given of course that this was just a phrase—he'd been introduced to mothers, fathers, best friends, eccentric aunts, and even at one point a parole officer (he fondly remembered the affair as a pleasant one).<p>

He thought he'd seen it all.

Iris herself had been a charming enough lady, very friendly and inquisitive, much to Apollo's chagrin. She floated easily among the three of them, giving them each proper attention as well as a proper job to do. Pearl had especially taken to her role as official cookie shaper.

This had been normal enough.

He should've realized it when they put the first batch in the oven—you'd have to be stupid to think that filling a house full of children with the smell of baking cookies _wouldn't_ send them all flooding towards the source.

Klavier considered himself good with children—he'd just never had to deal with so many at once. It wasn't particularly unwelcoming, just…new.

Apollo waded through the throng of small bodies running around underfoot. Fortunately, the bulk of the children were currently glued to the glass window of the oven.

He gave Klavier an apologetic look, "Sorry, you were supposed to meet everyone…later…in the den…where there's more room."

Klavier's gaze lowered to where Apollo was rubbing his wrist, just above his bracelet (there was also the matter that one of the girls had fixedly attached herself to his right leg and was giving him a toothy grin, but of most interest to him was what Klavier had learned by now to recognize as one of Apollo's nervous tics).

"It's fine," he smiled reassuringly, "I'm enjoying myself, really."

He reached forward until he found Apollo's hand in his, but not even a second later the defense attorney had involuntarily pulled away as if burned and began awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck instead.

His cheeks were a noticeable light pink.

Klavier, not yet too worried, gave him a curious look, but when Apollo glanced over and caught the prosecutor's gaze, profusely blushed an even deeper red, and frantically redirected his eyesight elsewhere, something in Klavier's head went _click_.

He opened his mouth to comment, just as the oven timer went off, beckoning forth a slew of uninhibited screams and catcalls from the children. Apollo shot him yet another apologetic look before excusing himself to do some damage control, somehow managing to look relieved, embarrassed, and regretful all at once.

Klavier stood, bowl of dough in one hand, wondering if perhaps he should follow suit. He quickly decided against it, on the pretense of thinking things over.

This was also something he had some familiarity with, although admittedly Apollo's particular behavior was atypical—most of his previous partners had been much more prone to jumping into his arms after the first "I love you."

At least, Klavier assumed that was the cause of Apollo's state of unease—was there really anything else that could be putting him on edge?

"Are you alright, Mr. Gavin?" came the soft, sweet voice of Pearl, accentuated by the light tapping of wire whisk against bowl.

"Ah, just Klavier, please," he said automatically.

_Mr._ Gavin was…stiff, too formal. Mr. Gavin was Kristoph.

"Oh," Pearl continued to whisk thoughtfully, "Mr. Klavier, then. Is something bothering you?"

"Not so much bothering _me_, as I am worried that I might've upset Mein Forehead."

It took a moment for Pearl to remember that this moniker referred to Apollo.

She gave him a pitiful, concerned look, seeming genuinely distressed, "Are you guys fighting?"

Klavier did his best to sound soothing, "Nein, nein, I just…"

He glanced over at the counter where Apollo had managed to calm the kids down by having them sit at the counter and mash their creative energy into the remaining dough; he was currently spooning balls of raw cookie in front of each of them. When he felt Klavier looking at him he turned, gave him a smile as equally nervous as it was enthusiastic, then proceeded to somehow fumble the ladle he was holding so that it went sailing into the air.

A bit of twirling and mid-air scrambling as the ladle bounced a couple of times against Apollo's attempts to grab it resulted in a lot of laughing from the children, and a slightly cracked, flustered, "I'M FINE!" from Apollo.

"I think I've made him nervous," Klavier chimed in with perfect timing.

Pearl tapped the clean end of the whisk against her chin, "Did you say something to upset him?"

"Sweet Fräulein, you seem like the romantic type, ja?"

She clutched the bowl to her waist and palmed the side of her face, looking blissfully sentimental, "Maybe a little."

"You understand the significance of saying 'I love you'?"

"It is _absolutely_ significant!" she exclaimed, with all the seriousness of a watchdog defending its territory.

Er, that is, if the watchdog were on the small-ish size and very adorable.

"Fräulein, do know what they mean when they say, 'Timing is everything'?"

"Who's 'they'?"

"It's just a phrase. My point is, there is a time and place for everything."

"Well!" there were stars in Pearl's eyes, "_I_ think when you love someone, you should tell them whenever you can."

"And I am inclined to agree with you—but this is not necessarily so for everyone."

KIavier could see this didn't sit all too well with Pearl.

"Sweet Fräulein, there are those who believe that the more you say something, the less meaning it has. If you say it all the time, it isn't so special anymore, ja?"

"I…guess…" Pearl had the look of an idealist coming to the realization that the concept of "True Love" wasn't quite as cookie cutter as she'd first imagined it to be.

"Pearl," at the mention of her name, she—in the way most people did the first time Klavier referred to them by first name—blushed and felt her heart skip a beat, "you should never apologize for telling someone you love them, so long as you truly mean it."

This seemed to cheer her up a bit, "Of course! If you truly love someone, it should be the easiest thing in the world to say you love them!"

"And for you, sweet Pearl, I imagine it is. In the short time I have known you, you have been nothing short of true and genuine. I am sure when the time comes you will have no trouble summoning the courage to be honest—a rare and envious trait."

Pearl's blush deepened and she began fervently mashing her dough with an embarrassed, but extremely happy smile, "I-I just think saying 'I love you' is really important…"

Klavier leaned forward, hands on his hips, "And that is what can make it so hard to say, ja? Especially if one has never said it before."

A light bulb went off in Pearl's head, "Wait! So the reason Mr. Justice is acting all funny is because…?"

He nodded, "Today on the way here, the conversation topic may have made him…uncomfortable. I suspect he's torn up whether or not he should say something about it to me."

Pearl's tendency to superimpose a simplistic view over a situation reared its head, "You mean he's going to tell you he loves you?_!_"

It almost hurt to not indulge her when she seemed so enthusiastic about the idea, but Klavier's training as a prosecutor urged him to stay objective, "…that remains to be seen."

Pearl found his answer less than encouraging, "…I don't understand. Doesn't he love you?"

"He…cares for me, yes. He's made sure to make at least that clear. But _saying_ it can be…well, let's just say that love can weigh heavily on the tongue, especially if someone else says it first."

Pearl's brow only furrowed deeper, "Well…then how do you get someone to say it back?"

And here Klavier took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head back before releasing it. There was a look of something akin to peace, a sort of resigned acceptance about him.

"You don't."

* * *

><p>When Apollo was sixteen, he got into a fight.<p>

This in itself actually wasn't much, given that at that age he was always getting into fights. They didn't exactly live in the best part of the city, and he'd had a short temper for anything that angered him. This particular fight however, would serve as a catalyst for something that would change his life forever.

Heather was only five years old, and heartbroken at having lost her best friend to new parents. The matrons had done their best to console her with promises that someone would one day come and adopt her too, and were met with cracked sobs and the reprimand of, "that doesn't fix it." So Heather did what any grieving five year old with the cognitive capacity to believe that reality would bend into any shape she desired if she only willed it hard enough would do.

She ran away.

This made itself apparent at bedtime when she failed to make roll call, and all hell broke loose. While the matrons were up in a panic checking beneath beds and making phone calls, Apollo left the orphanage of his own accord and took to the street to find her.

He saw at least two car muggings on the way.

At one point, a couple of trouble teens made the mistake of trying to jump him for his wallet, but he plowed straight through them and remained as vigilant as ever in his search.

He saw a total of zero police officers, no hopeful flash of red or blue.

For all he knew that the matrons were back at the orphanage making desperate calls into the nearby stations, no one was looking.

He found Heather curled up under the slide of a dilapidated playground, crying and shivering against her tattered pajamas. He did not say a word, just scooped her up into his arms and let her cling her arms around his neck, let her soak his shirt with dirty tears.

"I just wanted to go and see Emily."

Apollo had no admonishments or remarks for her—he simply held her tighter and just let her cry against him on the silent walk home. He felt nothing but relief at having found her, but there was something else beneath the surface, a quiet anger biting underneath his skin.

Later, after he had handed her to the (appropriately) emotional matrons, he retreated to his room before he felt the urge to go and break something. It was only until the house had finally quieted back down that he heard the creak of his door slowly opening.

"You looked pretty banged up when you came in through the door. I…I brought up the first aid kit."

The voice was soft and unfamiliar, which immediately identified her to him—this was that new matron, right? There had been light gossip going around about her, and why she was here. Some of the older children were going around trying to frighten the younger ones into believing she was an axe murderer gone into hiding—he'd heard the matrons whispering something about probation and community service. Apollo didn't really care for the rumors.

He turned and swung his legs over the other side of the bed, giving her a curt, noiseless nod. The young woman seemed to take note of the tension he was exuding, and so naturally made a point not to bring it up.

Instead, she carefully attended first the gash on his cheek, before asking kindly, "How'd you get these?"

His answer was as short as his current temperament, "Fight."

"Mmm," she acknowledged, thoughtfully sensing that he was not in the mood for small talk.

The next few minutes were filled merely with silence as the woman patched him up, the only breaks being hisses of pain whenever she applied any antiseptic.

Then, without ceremony, Apollo simply said to the room at large, and to no one in particular, "The world's full of shit."

He was expecting a scolding on his choice of words.

She replied, "In part, I guess it is."

Apollo found himself taken aback, a spot of white curiosity splashing into an otherwise dull, dark sea of red anger. Just who was this woman?

But then he remembered the reason for his anger and his curiosity was at once swallowed up.

"Nobody gives a damn about us! There was a little girl missing today and nobody even cared to help!" Apollo clenched newly bandaged fingers and got a searing pain in his hand for his troubles.

"Careful! Take it easy!" the woman urged when he let out an indignant cry.

There was another moment of silence as she checked to make sure the bandages were still tight.

"Does this happen often? You were in trouble for fighting the day I got here too."

Apollo tried to remember that far back, "…that guy shouldn't have hit his girlfriend like that."

Her reply was again surprising, "That was very brave of you, then."

"Somebody has to stand up to creeps like him!" he exclaimed, suddenly feeling very open and safe around this lady.

She continued wrapping a length of cloth around an especially nasty wound on his arm, "Well what about police? Shouldn't you let them handle things like this?"

The furrow on Apollo's brow just deepened further, "Yeah right, they don't do shit around here—and whenever they do get involved they just make things worse. What's the point of rules and laws if those who have the power to help people just abuse it?"

If Apollo had been paying attention, he might have noticed that the matron had stopped in the middle of wrapping his arm. He might've noticed the horror hidden delicately under otherwise placid features.

But he didn't.

"I hate them! The cops, politicians, lawyers, the whole lot of them! They're all full of shit!"

There was a sudden pressure around his wrist, and when he looked down he realized that the hand the matron had been using to prop his arm up was now squeezing it. It didn't hurt, but it was hard enough for him to think _maybe_ he might've overestimated how blunt he could be with this woman.

"Please…please don't say that," there were actual tears in her eyes, and that was when Apollo _really_ acknowledged that he had somehow messed up, "There are…there _is_ someone who cares."

Apollo had to bite down the immediate, more direct response that formed on the tip of his tongue.

He let it roll around in his mouth and reform before giving her a still rather ineloquent, "…oh yeah?"

If Apollo had known how much this woman was about to change his life, he might've braced himself. But he didn't, because as it often goes, the things that end up defining us are slow, gradual, and they more often than not start quietly without our notice, and so he listened, unguarded.

With a small smile on her lips, she began, "His name is Phoenix Wright."

* * *

><p>Klavier found Apollo's hand next to his and held it tight.<p>

"That was very noble of you, going out on your own to look for her."

Apollo rubbed at the back of his neck, "Oh, it was nothing. Someone had to do it."

His tone was over all humbling, but there was no denying the soft glow in his cheeks from having been praised. Klavier briefly wondered if the fact that they were currently sitting in Apollo's old room—and on his old bed of all places—might've also had something to do with it.

The defense attorney made a sweeping motion over the sheets, letting the fabric run under his fingers, "This is exactly where it happened. I was sitting here when Iris bandaged me up."

In a moment of fond recollection, Apollo sighed and flung himself backward onto the bed, "You know, it wasn't all that easy, growing up in this neighborhood, but I don't mind. I've got a lot of good memories of this place."

Klavier smiled and sidled himself down on to the bed as well, next to Apollo's side.

"I'm glad you decided to share it with me," he said softly.

He was glad that even with the earlier skittishness, Apollo did not move away, only turned to face him better. In fact, there was something about his expression that seemed to indicate a shift in the mood, a seriousness to contrast the previous playful atmosphere.

Still, he seemed strangely content, "I thought it was important to share."

They had locked eyes now. Feeling a bit bold, Apollo slid himself even closer, almost to the point of bumping foreheads.

"I've been thinking," the words vibrated quietly in the tiny space between their lips.

"Is this about what Pearl said in the car today?"

Apollo shook his head, making the sheets rustle, "I'll get to that later."

There was a quality in the air that was making him dizzy, something in the close proximity that slowly ate away at his sobriety, so that at first they just lay there for a moment, taking in the sight of each other. Then Apollo, eyes half-lidded, reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers across the corner of Klavier's forehead, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear before gently pressing their mouths together. Klavier let out a murmur of approval, instinctively sliding a hand across the dip above Apollo's hip in a slight tugging motion; Apollo automatically obliged and arched himself flush against the prosecutor in return.

There was the soft sound of lips parting, and Klavier said, "I like your thinking."

Apollo just cupped a hand against Klavier's neck, traced a thumb over his jaw line, "You're really important to me."

He took a moment to lightly graze at the nape of the prosecutor's neck, letting smooth strands of hair slip in and out between his fingers, "I was really happy today, seeing you with everyone. It felt nice seeing you in this part of my life, and it made me wonder if maybe…"

Apollo trailed off, suddenly very conscious of his own breathing, deep and deliberate, "Maybe I wouldn't mind having you around _all_ the time."

"What are you trying to say, Apollo?"

"I'm _saying_…," he paused, pink tongue darting out to wet dry lips, "Maybe I could move in with you."

Apollo allowed a beat for this to process in Klavier's mind. He was relieved when he felt warm hands cover the blush on his cheeks.

In the barest of whispers, Klavier said, "I might have some room."

Klavier kissed Apollo's brow, then the top of his left cheek, then finally came to rest once again on the attorney's mouth. Apollo responded by pulling at the back of Klavier's head with a sense of urgency. In true Justice boldness, he hooked a leg behind the prosecutor's knee and pulled, sending them both tumbling over until Klavier was on top of him.

Pleasantly surprised, Klavier took this as an opportunity to nibble thoughtfully at Apollo's earlobe, "I love it when you're so forthright."

With only the _slightest_ hint of smugness, Apollo responded in all seriousness, "I'm sure you do."

And that was the moment it truly hit Klavier.

Because never mind the fact that he was currently working on a particularly sensitive spot on Apollo's neck, eliciting some of the most appreciative moans he'd ever heard coming from the attorney—never mind that he almost engulfed the smaller man beneath him in size as he covered his body with his own.

Apollo slid his hands down from where they were resting on Klavier's neck and down the prosecutor's chest, down further until they circled around to stop on hips, the smallest of tugs urging Klavier to press himself even closer, and that's when he just _knew_—

This man completely _owned_ him.

"I love you."

This time it did not come wrapped up in vague phrasing—it was not preceded by comical teasing, and there were no attempts to dress it up, to make it sound profound, or unique, or scripted.

This was not the first time in his lifetime that Klavier had ever said these words to someone, but it was quite possibly the first time where he wasn't relatively sure they would be said back in return—perhaps that just made this time all the more meaningful.

He could feel his heart in his throat when Apollo all but completely ceased moving, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then he felt the hands at his hips move back up, rewinding themselves backwards up the same path to the base of his neck. Apollo was giving him that look, the one he made every time he had something really important to say,, something so important that he wouldn't actually say it until he made sure Klavier didn't dare look away.

He breathed in, "Me too."

At almost the same time, they both let out the air they'd been holding in.

Klavier leaned in, heartbeat racing—

"Wait, no, that's not what I meant, I—I mean—"

—to a complete stop.

Apollo began wriggling uncomfortably, "That came out wrong, I didn't mean—"

Klavier's voice stuck like a lump of clay in his throat.

"I didn't mean, 'I love me too,' I mean—"

"…"

"I meant it like, 'I love you' _back_, I—"

There was a moment where they just blinked at each other.

Apollo, looking practically horrified, said incredulously, "_Please shut me up._"

All at once, like an explosion, Klavier let out a laugh. It was loud and free, the kind that shakes the shoulders and the spine, the kind that starts in the stomach and satisfies the soul. He ended up collapsing in a heap, burying himself against Apollo's neck and letting the remaining waves of laughter ride out over his collarbone, resulting in a very disgruntled, very pouty, very _red_ attorney.

Apollo held him through the tremors, all the same.


	17. Chapter 17

HOLY CRAP, has it been awhile. Well here we are, in the final stretch. Between college, four jobs, a trans-pacific move, I've finally taken this story almost to its conclusion, and to be honest, I'm a little sad that this is all ending soon. I'm still unfairly busy, but I'll try to get the epilogue done soon after this. Thank you to all the long-time readers who I've kept waiting, and also to all the new readers who joined during the long hiatus. I really could not have finished this without every one of you.

* * *

><p>Apollo shifted the box higher up on his hip, keeping it in place with one arm while he busied the other with making sure his mobile didn't fall out from between his ear and shoulder, "…hello?"<p>

A familiar voice, full of its usual charm and affection, sounded over the speaker, "Mein Forehead! How are the lieblings treating you?"

Apollo hiked the box up again, "Hey Klavier. The, ah…_lieblings_ are…"

He gave pause to look over at the corner of the apartment where Pearl and Trucy, dressed up in old coveralls borrowed from the land lord, were currently helping Machi into a third pair.

"He's so small," Pearl giggled, rolling up a sleeve.

"…I is hearing you right here," Machi pouted, arms up and out, a girl on either side.

Trucy rolled her side up a final notch, "There! Now to roll up your legs."

Machi dropped to the floor with a defiant _plunk_, as if his pride depended on it.

"I can do!" he said stubbornly, beginning to bunch up the fabric around his ankle.

Apollo readjusted both box and phone, for what felt like the hundredth time, "They're doing fine. They're getting a head start on the painting. I'm just gonna move this last box downstairs and then I'm gonna go back up and make sure they haven't wrecked the place."

"I'm just around the corner—I should be there soon. After we load the boxes in the car, mind if I join you?"

There was a loud bang and Apollo's head whipped around to see a pool of sharp white gathering around a distressed Machi's feet.

"Trucy, I _told_ you it was heavy!"

"I'm sorry!"

Apollo covered his eyes with his one free hand and groaned, happy that he had at least had the foresight to lay down some plastic on the floor.

"Please," he was practically begging into the phone.

Then with a quieter, more sincere tone, he added, "Thanks Klavier," before hanging up.

He sighed, carefully moving the phone from his shoulder and into his pocket. Across the room, Machi and the girls were doing their best to mop up the spilt paint with the brushes.

He stood for a moment, watching the three of them work together, softly bickering amongst themselves, like it was the easiest thing in the world, like they'd been doing it their whole lives. And he just knew it was going to be like this all day—the girls were going to fawn over Machi, Trucy was probably going to drop something again, or make something disappear, and he wouldn't be surprised if at one point Machi's natural bluntness made Pearl cry.

And it was strange.

A part of him felt like sighing again.

But instead he went away smiling.

* * *

><p>When Apollo gave them instructions on where to put the boxes, Trucy was the only one who gave him a second glance.<p>

She looked at him, eyebrow raised curiously, "Into the _spare_ room, huh?"

He gave her a curt nod of the head, hoping she would drop it there. She crossed her arms and smiled, earning her confused looks from Machi and Pearl, who had already both grabbed a box and were heading upstairs without her.

Poised with all the slyness of a Gramarye, armed with the fox-grin of a Wright, she said, "Wonder how long _that's_ gonna last."

"_Trucy_…" he warned.

"Okay, okay!" she threw her hands up defensively, finally went to grab a box, "I know, it's just…really, can you blame me?"

Apollo buckled under that good-natured smile of hers, just rolled his eyes and side-stepped the issue, "Let's just get these moved."

"Riiiight."

The conversation on the way up was blissfully normal and innuendo free, and thankfully the rest of the afternoon passed without too much incident, until the very end when Apollo went into his room to count the boxes and came up significantly short.

It didn't take them too long to find them stacked neatly in Klavier's room.

An unremorseful Trucy explained, "I just figured I'd save you the extra move later."

* * *

><p>Apollo woke up surrounded by soft sheets and far too much bed than he was used to.<p>

He had tried taking advantage of the space by sprawling out the night before, but old habits died hard, especially ones cultivated in tiny, cramped apartments. It was thus that he greeted the morning from within a tight cocoon of blanket, body tucked into itself, the smell of breakfast the first thing to illicit any sort of urge to stir him from his bubble of warmth and comfort.

For a moment, Apollo just stayed still and blinked in the morning sun, before curling in a bit more and thinking, _(Klavier's cooking breakfast)_

A light, pleasant feeling flooded his chest as he smiled a bit at the thought. It carried him up into a sitting position, and—almost floating—he made his way quietly into the kitchen. Klavier was dressed casually in pants that were held loosely to his frame by a simple draw-string, a disheveled white Hanes to match the messy tail he'd made of his hair, and Apollo felt like maybe it should make him pissed how well he pulled it off. A year ago it probably _would_ have, would've come off as unfair that someone could make sweats and a t-shirt and flipping eggs look so refined, but now it just gave him a funny feeling he couldn't quite place.

He yawned and Klavier turned his head to the sight of Apollo rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the sleeves of his night shirt.

Almost immediately he was all over him, planting kisses everywhere and earning himself a flustered response of, "Stop, stop, I'm all gross and haven't showered yet."

He dodged the swatting arm and managed to land one more kiss on the bridge of Apollo's nose, "I can't help it—you look so cute in the morning, ja?"

Red and embarrassed, Apollo pushed himself off and headed towards the bathroom, "I'm gonna go wash up."

Klavier just chuckled and went back to the stove, "Everything should be done by the time you're out."

He was just pushing the last of the sausage in the pan onto a plate when the defense attorney returned, scrubbing enthusiastically at his head with a towel, and Klavier had to resist the urge to kiss him again. He found himself staring as Apollo sat down at the table, letting the towel drape freely over his head as he reached for his share of breakfast.

He started in on the piece of toast, "…what?"

Klavier rubbed at the back of his neck, looking quite fascinated, "It's just…I've never seen you without gel in your hair before."

Apollo instinctively glanced the other way, "…so?"

"Forehead…I can't see your forehead."

He defensively pulled at the ends of his towel and repeated, "…_so_?"

And then suddenly, Klavier had leaned across the table and was all Apollo could see, "I like it."

Perhaps more from sheer shock than embarrassment, Apollo's face went fully red and the toast dropped from his mouth and hit the plate, making a soft _chink_ sound. Klavier made quick work of replacing the toast with a kiss, which only served to deepen the blush even further.

Then almost as quickly he pulled back, prompting a grateful puff of air from Apollo, who he'd caught mid-breath, "Although, you probably shouldn't wear it this way to court. I might have trouble concentrating at work."

Apollo frowned and gave him a very condescending look, cheeks still visibly stained. Why, just…_why_. He'd have thought he'd have gotten used to this by now.

Under the pretense of drying his hair more, he pulled the towel forward so that it covered his face. From somewhere underneath the fabric, Klavier could hear something being mumbled.

"What was that?"

Apollo stopped for moment, then slowly lifted his head a bit. His face was as sullen as ever, but the shy touch of a foot against Klavier's inner shin suggested otherwise.

"I said I guess you're the only one who'll ever get to see it, then…"

Klavier just smiled wide and leaned forward again.

Between them, breakfast was getting cold, but nobody really minded.

* * *

><p>When the buzzer sounded, Apollo had three guesses as to who might possibly want to bother them during unpacking.<p>

They were all correct.

He could hear Pearl's sweet, genuine timbre mixed with the playful mischievous tones of Trucy's, "Special delivery for special someones!"

Apollo liked to imagine he could also detect somewhere intertwined with—or rather, buried underneath—the girls' voices the soft and embarrassed sounds of Machi.

All three of them stood at the threshold of the door, three distinct expressions to match each distinct voice. Machi stood pulling at his sleeves, looking like the whole thing was an inconvenience, _(And yet here you are)_, and Apollo thought briefly that perhaps there were some perks to being the _older_ brother. Pearl was smiling off to the side, as if she were merely tagging along on one of Trucy's antics, like this didn't have her fingerprints all over it, because cake for the happy couple? How sweet—how _innocent_—was that? And finally, there was Trucy, flanked on either side, smiling like she was the star of the show, like she didn't have any ulterior motives of possibly catching her older brother and his boyfriend being all lovey-dovey.

"Well this is…unexpected."

"Where's Klavier?" Trucy bounced, and Apollo swore the cake rose a good centimeter off the platter from the inertia, just for a second.

He eyed it with growing apprehension, "...He's inside, helping me move stuff."

"Many apologies; we are bother," Machi pulled nervously at Trucy's cape, "We leave cake and go."

It then occurred to Apollo that perhaps Machi didn't consider this whole thing an inconvenience so much as he was afraid he was _being_ an inconvenience, and softened immediately.

He smiled, "Want to come in and help?"

"…is alright?"

"Definitely! I'd actually really appreciate it."

Just as it had been in court, the complete shift in Machi's countenance from reclusive to tender and open was almost startling, and _(Oh, yeah, I am __**definitely**__ developing a soft spot for this kid)_ was all Apollo could think as Machi all but practically pushed past the doorframe and made a beeline for the boxes.

Trucy followed suit, announcing over her shoulder, "I'll just put the cake in the kitchen!"

Pearl however lingered for a bit, giving Apollo a rather knowing look out of the corner of her eye. The way she cocked her head only the slightest of degrees without fully glancing up to look at him made him fidget a bit.

"…what?"

She gave a Pearl-standard hands-on-face goofy smile and merely said, "I bet you two are getting along _reaaaal_ well now…"

He felt his cheeks coloring in embarrassment, "Aha…yeah, that's generally a pre-requisite to moving in together."

Her squeals were without shame, "It's just _so romantic_!"

Apollo let out a conversational laugh, before moving things along, "Why don't I let you in, and we can join the others with unpacking?"

Pearl gave an eager nod, pushed the hems of her sleeves up, and said, "You just leave it to us! You enjoy your first day as the happy live-in couple!"

As if right on cue, the sound of crashing pots and pans echoed into the hallway, followed quickly by a sharp apology from Trucy. Apollo rolled his eyes and sighed, and yet couldn't even bring himself to be angry. There was something strangely satisfying in knowing that the usually empty and silent air of Klavier's apartment was now filled with the clatter of warm voices, the sounds of small feet running underfoot.

As Pearl ran ahead to help with the commotion, Apollo took the opportunity to shut the door and lock it behind him. He could hear the faint laughter of Klavier and the others, and for a moment he just stood there, listening, taking it all in.

There was a quietness welling up inside him, a sort of reverence and fear that this was all too good to last. Because surely, just like every surrogate brother and sister who'd gotten adopted before him, like every matron that had come and gone through the years, or even the security of working at Gavin Law Offices, this was all due to dissipate and leave him behind.

But he told himself no, this was here, this was now, and even the thought of this all being gone tomorrow didn't stop him from wanting it so badly _today_, and this scared and excited and terrified him all at once.

With one part fear and five parts courage (which he figured was the appropriate mixture for anything worth caring about, really), Apollo stepped away from the door and towards the main room, before quietly saying, "Here comes Justice."

There was no one else in the hall with him, but he said the words regardless, to himself, because there was no one else better who needed to hear them.

* * *

><p>"This is so <em>boring<em>," Trucy exclaimed, inviting herself with a full-bodied plop onto the couch, "What's the point of a couch in the den room if there's no TV in front of it?"

Apollo tried desperately to hide the oncoming blush as Klavier sent a very mischievous smirk his way, because the couch certainly hadn't been boring about five minutes _before_ the kids had rung the bell.

Pearl sat herself politely towards the end, in the small space that Trucy hadn't claimed, "I admit, the place could still use some…filling out."

"I keep saying I'll go furniture shopping," Klavier's expression grew more sincere as he continued looking at the defense attorney, taking a seat on the coffee table in lieu of all the other available seats being taken, "Maybe I'll finally find the motivation to do it."

Trucy sat up with a bolt of inspiration, "We could totally help you guys pick out some stuff!"

Pearl smiled sweetly, "I'm really good at assisting with that sort of thing! I do it for Mystic Maya all the time!"

Machi just quietly sat down between the two girls with his glass of water, content to drink it with both hands, but Apollo imagined that he wouldn't have objected to an actual invitation to such an event.

"That sounds…" he paused, picturing himself and Klavier roaming the nearest Bed and Lowes, keeping Trucy from jumping on the beds, picking out sheets and cups and things.

He suppressed a smile, "…very domestic."

"Would you prefer something a little more…passionate?" Klavier said this in a tone that Apollo felt was a little gutsy, considering the younger audience in their midst, and he looked down at the floor, embarrassed.

"Uh…maybe later," he side-eyed Trucy with a grimace, who coincidentally (or not) had been side-eyeing him first with one of her _looks_, "Let's focus on getting some more dishes so we don't have to keep washing the few you've got so often."

Pearl, being Pearl, said, "Doing all those house-chores together sounds great! You guys are so lucky to have each other!"

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," Apollo found himself scratching bashfully at the back of his head.

Klavier placed an elbow on his knee and palmed his face, looking playfully good-natured, "Not too…_domestic_ for you?"

Apollo felt something catch in his chest suddenly as he recalled the scene earlier that day at breakfast, Klavier in sweats, handing off washed plates to be dried, standing side by side and taking turns using the faucet at the bathroom sink, all of it, all the tiny details and the way it all felt so much larger than the sum of its parts.

"Domestic is…nice," he conceded, finally letting a tiny smile grace his lips as he continued staring at his socks.

Somewhere ahead of him Trucy was making shrewd implications as to what he and Klavier did to keep themselves entertained in such an empty apartment and Pearl was pulling Machi close and covering his ears, hissing Trucy's name under her breath. For once Apollo lacked the pride to be embarrassed, too busy in his reverie, even as Machi choked on his water in startled confusion, because what the hell were these girls making a fuss over him for, he knew what the word "entertain" meant for goodness sakes, his English wasn't _that_ bad, was it?

And then somewhere between Trucy attempting to bridge the lexical gap between his technically correct understanding of the word "entertain" with more colloquial definitions, and Pearl squawking like a mother hen around a very poor and unfortunate Machi's head, Apollo had somehow made his way over to the coffee table and slid himself comfortably against Klavier's side.

It occurred to him that he wasn't actually picking up on any of the dialogue—or, he was, but it was like the individual words weren't really necessary? It was the opposite of being so disconnected you couldn't register any words—it was more like he was so attuned with just being _here_, with the fact that he was with everybody, and he was staying, and _they_ were staying, that he didn't really need the words to understand.

And oh, Klavier was pulling out the guitar, and Apollo just kept smiling because yeah, that was a good idea, of course he'd come up with it to calm the kids down. And when Klavier began singing and gave the defense attorney a small nudge, Apollo didn't even hesitate to validate all the practice the two had been putting in by joining in.

Each note felt so good in his throat; the light brush of his knee against the prosecutor's soft; the happiness in his chest light; and the prayer on the tip of his tongue that this moment would never end sweet.

* * *

><p>It was currently later, and the prosecutor was making good on Apollo's offer to make out passionately on the couch.<p>

Or rather, when Apollo said, "This isn't what I meant by 'later'" Klavier managed to change his tune by being very persuasive.

Which is to say, he grabbed Apollo by the front of his shirt and brought their lips together before using the momentum to bring them both crashing backwards onto the couch, which resulted in the very flustered defense attorney suddenly straddling him. Klavier figured this would be the strong point of his "argument," since he'd come to understand that Apollo liked it best when he got to be in charge—what made this even better was that Apollo would probably rather die than actively, consciously admit this.

Apollo looked at him with red cheeks and a set jaw, annoyed in part at the way Klavier splayed himself underneath him and just _smiled_, but also in part at himself for thinking, _(Oh god, I could put my mouth on that smile and __**just**__—)_

He placed his hands lightly on the sides of the prosecutor's stomach before leaning forward, letting his fingers slide up the length of Klavier's chest, giving _just_ enough pressure to make the muscle underneath give way as he made a path up to rest hands on shoulders, cheek on cheek, and lips a breath's width away from the shell of Klavier's ear.

The voice came suddenly raspy and low, "Why do I always let you talk me into this?"

The shiver that went up Klavier's spine was almost enough to make him switch gears and make moves to grab Apollo by the hips and flip him onto his back, but he told himself there'd be plenty of time for that later, and besides, coaxing Apollo's more domineering side out had its own satisfying pay-offs, so he settled for saying, "I didn't actually _say_ anything, Mein Forehead."

Hook, line, and sinker, Apollo was suddenly all mouth and teeth, and Klavier was the bait he bit down on. A soft murmur escaped Klavier's throat as he felt the defense attorney's mouth travel from the base of his jaw to the base of his neck, and when teeth softly grazed against his adam's apple, Klavier instinctively swallowed.

Apollo pulled back a bit and let his gaze drift over Klavier's features, reaching up to brush a couple of bangs out of the prosecutor's eyes, "Your hair's growing out again."

"Yes, the press," Apollo quieted him with a quick kiss, "had a field day," and again, "with that one."

Apollo grinned and pressed their foreheads together, "Oh, if they could see you now."

Klavier chuckled and linked his hands around the small of Apollo's back, "I'd rather they not—I'd hate to see what the fans would do to you."

"I can handle myself," Apollo's eyes had drifted down to focus on the way Klavier's lips moved as he spoke, all the while tracing small, lazy figure-eights along the line of his collar bone.

Klavier brought the both of Apollo's hands to rest on the sides of his own face, "Mmm, maybe first you should finish handling me, ja?"

Apollo closed already heavy-lidded eyes and pulled the two of them closer together, lips catching the faint taste of coffee and cinnamon, although it was hard to tell which one of them was the coffee and which was the cinnamon. Klavier gave a soft hum of approval, and when they broke apart he just sighed contentedly, the small pink of his tongue darting out quickly to wet dry lips, and Apollo took the opportunity to kiss him again, this time a bit more open-mouthed, as if to discern the taste from before better.

And then Klavier was as much hands as he was mouth, and—with the grace of someone who had clearly done this before—he lifted his back up off the couch with a rolling motion that started in his hips and sat them both straight up. A month ago _any_ sort of movement that involved hips against hips would've produced a squeak in Apollo's throat, but it was an altogether different sound that escaped him now. He felt hands following the dip in his back that ran along his spine, up and up with such feather-light precision until there was the cool touch of Klavier's rings on the bare skin above his collar and a shiver went through him.

_(Oh god I—I should—aaa—_

"—ah!" Apollo let out a small gasp of surprise when Klavier moved his hips again in an attempt to line their bodies up flush against each other.

_(Ishould—sh-should…stop?)_

Even with the slight buzzing in his ears, Apollo found himself pulling almost desperately at Klavier, a heat flooding across the span of his shoulders.

_(I…could stop this…I really could if I—if I want—)_

Almost simultaneously they both pulled apart for breath, and Apollo looked across the distance (for lack of a better term, there was so little of it between them) and saw the mistiness in Klavier's eyes, clouded over but also so _full_, like fog over a freshly waxed moon.

"Mein…" Klavier started, and Apollo could feel the rise and fall of the chest pressed up against his, before the prosecutor thought better, "…Justice."

Without thinking, Apollo reached up and slid his fingers under Klavier's hairline, pushed back the strands of gold from his face until he could see everything, and for a moment they just stayed that way, heavy breathing the only sounds to be heard. When Apollo felt a stirring at the back of his neck, felt Klavier affectionately grazing his base hairline, something within him seemed to begin shifting, a strange feeling that started in his stomach and pressed up into his ribcage.

The hand at Klavier's forehead slid slowly down the curve of his cheek.

_(I—)_

The hand continued lower.

"Apollo, this—"

Apollo moved closer suddenly, as if scared what might be on the other end of that sentence, until their breaths of air were so tangled together he couldn't tell whose was whose, and the hand between them had travelled even further south to rest on Klavier's side. His fingers tensed a bit, clutching at the fabric he found there, the hem of the prosecutor's shirt lifting free of his pants line ever so slightly.

_(I think I want—)_

And then the doorbell went off.

Apollo's hand immediately flew away from Klavier's side, with the rest of his body soon following suit, and with a squawk worthy of destroying almost any sort of mood, he yelled, "I-I'll get it!"

He practically sprinted towards the door, fueled by panic and infuriation, wondering just who the _hell_ it was bothering them. When he finally reached the entrance—and after fumbling with the lock with almost exasperated dexterity—he opened the door and went horribly pale. What had once been irritation turned nearly murderous.

"_Mister Wright, __**what the hell**_—

"Right, I know I'm dropping in so unexpected, but I was running by doing some errands—"

"_**Leave**_."

"—and had this really sudden urge to take a piss, so I—"

Apollo slammed the door in Phoenix's face.

There was silence, then a small scratching noise, a shuffling of shoes against the ground outside, before Phoenix's voice came muffled through the woodwork.

"…So can I come in?"

* * *

><p>Apollo and Klavier were sitting together rather chastely on the couch, Klavier holding back a laugh as Apollo silently screamed and thought, <em>(He's in our damn bathroom right now and he won't leave)<em>.

The defense attorney shifted uncomfortably before instinctively grabbing one of the throw pillows and hugging both it and his knees to his chest.

"God, I am so _sorry_."

"Nein, it's no worry," Klavier allowed a slight chuckle before pressing a kiss to the other's temple, who at this point was flushed as red as a tomato.

Apollo could feel the heat in him rising, although it was a very different sort of heat than that of a few minutes ago, and he curled into himself just a bit more.

Klavier rubbed at the defense attorney's back in a comforting way before leaning in and saying softly, "I'll go start dinner then."

Apollo, head still low, responded equally as quiet, "Okay."

Neither of them said it, but it was undeniably clear that the mood—and the chances of whatever might've happened—had passed. After Klavier got up to leave, Apollo just groaned indigently and planted his face into the couch, legs still drawn up and the pillow clutched tightly in his arms. Before long, he heard the soft patter of feet coming from the general direction of the bathroom.

"Sorry about coming in so suddenly, Apollo—you guys are a life-saver."

Apollo didn't move or answer.

Phoenix looked tentatively down at his young charge, "….you okay?"

"Go away."

"….did I interrupt something?"

"Mr. Wright, I _swear_—"

Phoenix threw his hands up defensively, "Okay, okay! I get it! Sorry to, uh…intrude."

"….."

"….I'll be going now."

Apollo heard the sound of retreating footsteps, hoping that was the end of it, but of course, _of course_, Phoenix had just one last thing to say.

"You two be safe now!"

_"GODDAMMIT, MR. WRIGHT—"_

Phoenix quickly shut the door after himself.

* * *

><p>"So I heard you and the fop are shacking up together now."<p>

Apollo rolled his eyes, "Please don't phrase it like _that_."

Ema just smiled devilishly and popped another Snackoo in her mouth, "What? All I can say is that it's about effen' time."

He sighed, "Just give me the damn analysis."

Ema spoke around the crunch of her food, "Hold your horses, I still have to finish the tests first."

With the peculiar grace of someone who lacks any real grace, Ema swung her swivel chair back around before landing point in front of her workspace, elbow on the desk and her cheek on her wrist as she pulled the slab of rock before her closer.

She flipped her free hand back over her shoulder, palm up, "Sample, please."

"Refreshing to hear you actually using niceties," Apollo teased, gently placing a golden singlet within the curl of her fingers.

She didn't even bother to turn around to look at him as she proceeded to take the piece of jewelry and scratch against the streak plate. Apollo watched her take a bottle of some liquid and spill a neat line across the smudge before he remembered he had other business with Ema.

"Oh, right," he went to go fetch a manila envelope from his suitcase, "When he heard I was visiting you, Klavier thought it'd be convenient if I dropped this off for him. It's your performance evaluation for this year."

She gave a general mutter of recognition and held her hand out once more.

Apollo handed her the documents, "Don't worry, I didn't peek or anything."

Ema just remained silent as she swiveled around again and swung one leg over the other, all in one swift motion, then tore away at the adhesive flap and scanned very disinterestedly over the first page of the review.

"Glad to know I'm still not fired," she said, seemingly having found any and all relevant information, before scrunching up the whole stack—unread papers and all—and tossing the ball over her shoulder.

Apollo would've protested about how unprofessional this was, if he wasn't busy being impressed by how the ball had managed to skirt the edge of the trash-can behind Ema before swishing down in, because damn, if there was anything to say about the detective it was that not only did she not give a damn, she was _really good at it_.

"I'd ask why you've got it in for the guy, but then I remember—it's Klavier."

Ema reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip, "Correction—it's just as much me as it is that fop. We just _really_ don't get along."

"He's really not all _that_ bad."

Ema leered over the lip of her cup, steam framing her face, "Maybe he's just…an acquired taste."

Apollo tried very hard not to read into the way she emphasized the last bit, "M-maybe…"

He could see another smart remark forming on the detective's tongue, but the door creaking open silenced anything she had lurking beneath that smirk.

She rolled her eyes, before speaking into her coffee, "Well, speak of the devil."

"Evening, Fräu—"

"_Fop_," Ema interrupted, shooting daggers at the prosecutor, "I have, in my hand, steaming hot coffee in lieu of my regular bag of snacks. Please choose your next words carefully.

Apollo held back a snicker as he watched the gears in Klavier's head turn before the man coughed and relented with, "Detective. I take it you were talking about me just now—nice things, I assume."

Ema actually smiled, but the daggers in her eyes were still just as sharp, "We were just talking about how we'd both like to jump your bones."

Apollo practically all but forgot about volume control, "_She's joking_."

Klavier leaned forward, hands on his hips, "Oh, I doubt she is, unfortunately. I, however, would very much like to keep my bones on the inside, thank you very much."

Ema coolly shot back with, "Keep flashing that patch of tummy at me, and we'll see."

"Maybe I wasn't flashing it for your benefit."

She continued sipping nonchalantly, "That all it take to get into lawyer boy's pants, huh?"

"I-I just wanted to know if this piece of evidence was real gold or not," Apollo sputtered, burying his reddening face in the palms of his hands.

"It isn't," Ema said, so matter-of-factly you'd think the previous exchange hadn't actually happened.

Klavier straightened, actually laughing a bit, "I'll get out of your hair then. I just wanted to make sure you got your evaluation."

"Filed it," she replied curtly, swinging back around to clean up the acid test she'd just finished.

"I…" Apollo noticed the way Klavier's eyes flitted briefly over the waste-basket before coming back to look at him, "I see. Well then, suppose I'll make myself scarce. Come see me when you're done and we can drive home, ja?"

Apollo just sheepishly nodded at Klavier's retreating form, before letting out a deep sigh.

"You must be a _saint_, Justice," Ema said conversationally, after Klavier had shut the door behind him, "I don't care how good the sex might be, living with him must be a _nightmare_."

Apollo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like, "Ema, stop," but with a lot more garbles and consonants thrown in.

"Oh come on, there's no use trying to deny it, it's _Klavier Gavin_—you _really_ trying to tell me you two don't go at it like bunny rabbits?"

Apollo could feel the heat in his face rising dangerously high, "I don't—th-that isn't—"

Ema just raised one eyebrow meaningfully, sipping on her damn coffee with the most distasteful smile he'd ever seen her wear. There was a very painful second where he just covered his mouth with his hand, trying very hard not to let Ema see the sweat trickling down the side of his temple, before her eyes went very wide as the connection hit her.

"_Oh my god_," she hissed quietly, dropping the hand that held her drink into her lap.

"It's not—!" Apollo didn't exactly know what kind of ending to give this sentence, but it was clear that there should certainly be plenty of exclamation points to accompany it.

"Not even _once_?" she asked incredulously, placing the coffee on the desk so as to better lean in, showcasing what was probably the most attention she'd ever paid him personally.

"Can I just—the sample report—"

"Well _hell_, don't I feel like a bunch of dicks now—"

"_Ema."_

"No, really, I actually feel really bad for once."

Apollo, growing more and more short by the second, just sagged his shoulders and grimaced, "Well _congratulations_, I imagine that must only happen every hundred or so years."

She waved the passive-aggressive insult away with her hand, "Just about. So…_damn_, I mean…_how_? We're talking about the fop here, I would've thought he'd be on you like a screwdriver in—"

"_Please_ don't finish that sentence," he groaned.

"Don't tell me he's…," Ema's eyes suddenly lit up in a way that almost scared him, "Actually really bad at it?"

"….Geeze, you _really _don't like this guy."

"Answer the question."

Apollo considered just leaving without the report he needed, "It's not—I just…I didn't want…at the time…"

Ema leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking very methodical, "I see…so the issue here is actually _you_, I take it? …Wow, I think I'm actually impressed."

"Impressed?"

"That you've managed to keep the glimmerousness out of your pants for so long."

Apollo tried very hard to dispel the image this created, "You make it sound like it's a hard thing. You don't seem to have any trouble with it either."

Ema gave a very genuine nod, "Yes, but I don't actually _like_ the guy, it's not like I get any brownie points for not banging a guy I don't like."

Apollo deflated a bit more, "You realize what the prosecutor and I do during our private time is our business, right?"

She reached for her Snackoos, "Ah, but that's just it, isn't it? You're not actually _doing_ anything with the dear prosecutor, are you?"

"_You_…you don't know what you're talking about…" he finished lamely.

"Oh?" she smirked, "Gonna make a move then?"

Apollo slammed his fists down on the table, "Objection! No leading the conversation!"

"Holy hell, slow down there law boy, this isn't a court of law," Ema thoughtfully rooted around for a fist-ful of snack, "But if you really want my advice? _Bang the guy_."

"You are _so_ eloquent," Apollo could feel himself sinking into a chair across from the detective, "…wait, I thought you were _against _us doing that sort of thing?"

"You guys are living together, I think you're warranted a bit of fun. And besides," and here Ema's face suddenly turned a shade more reflective, surprisingly sincere, "There are worse guys you could be getting it on with."

Apollo actually looked rather alarmed, "That might literally be the nicest thing I've ever heard you say about him…are you actually giving me heartfelt advice?"

"I still feel bad for teasing you earlier."

Apollo blinked a bit as he considered the detective before him. This was…unprecedented Ema territory.

"…So, most of the time, just where do you keep this nice Ema stowed away?"

"She's back in Europe, taking a test," she snorted, her tone like acid, which normally felt sweet in her throat, but Apollo caught just the slightest aversion of gaze, the bite in Ema's voice that made it sound like maybe for once it hurt on the way up, and suddenly he was very quiet.

He wondered whether Ema would rather appreciate a sarcastic or consolatory response, given how bitter-sweet the statement had been, before he decided on neither, "Oh."

The detective cleared her throat, "But yes, in all honesty, as much as it pains me to say this, Klavier's actually a pretty decent guy. Terribly conceited and out-landishly in need of some _real_ style, but all things considered, you two somehow make a pretty fitting pair."

"That's very sweet of you to say Ema, it really is," and even Apollo wasn't sure if he was shooting for candor here or not, still taking the 'Ema being nice' thing a bit incredulously.

"Hey, just because you clash with someone doesn't make them fundamentally a bad person," she gave her snacks a gentle shake, peering down into the bag with a sort of softness that was foreign to him, yet somehow not unbecoming or out of place for her features.

There was something…more youthful in the small, relaxed smile she now wore, a tired optimism shaking itself from the depths of disappointment that years of harsh reality had layered on, and she added as an after-thought, "Even I can admit that."

"…We are getting pretty serious," Apollo finally let himself fall into the openness of the atmosphere.

Ema actually laughed a bit as she tossed a Snackoo into her mouth, "I think you're actually pretty good for him. You don't take his shit," _munch, _"most of the time, anyway. I think he likes how you're one of the few people who plays him straight in a massive sea of people trying to kiss his ass."

"You think that's why you've yet to get fired?" Apollo actually threw a joke that was, for once, not ribbed with counter-sarcasm.

She smiled, "There are perks to being honest, I suppose."

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation as Ema continued to chew leisurely, lost in some chain of thought, before she said, "I will say this—the guy's _head over heels_ for you. I mean, even for someone who falls in love pretty easily and freely, it's pretty bad."

Apollo looked down at his lap with the smallest of smiles, "Really…?"

Ema responded loudly and suddenly, "_There! _Right _there_," she accentuated her words with a jab of her finger in his direction, causing him to sit up straighter in confusion, "That's exactly the same shit he does, when he's fooling around with his phone and texting you, clearly _not_ doing his job, it's so cute and disgusting."

Apollo blinked a couple of times, quiet.

Ema continued, stuffing her mouth with some more snacks, "Don't worry though, I actually like you, so it's just endearing when you do it."

His shoulders fell, "…Did you just call me cute?"

Ema actually _reached over_ and ruffled his hair a bit, "Yes. I. Did."

Apollo batted her arm away before fussing with the strands of hair she'd mussed up, scowling, "Damn, never thought I'd miss you actually being _mean_ me."

She leaned back, chuckling darkly, "Oh, don't worry—you'll be seeing regular me the next time we meet. You've just caught me being sentimental," _munch munch munch, _"aaand, I suppose I just have a soft spot for you—guess I've always had a thing for people who dress well and use bold colors."

Apollo considered this for a moment, "...are you hitting on me?"

She burst out laughing with, "Pffft, ahahahaha, good one," before extending the hand that held her bag out to him, while wiping a tear in her eye with the other, "Here, you deserve some for that."

He'd never really been the type to eat snacks, but he automatically reached in and grabbed a few, because when Ema Skye offered you some of her precious Snackoos, refusing was just _not_ an option.

He sampled the first one carefully, almost ceremoniously, before saying, "You know, I think you're wrong."

Ema raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Oh?"

Apollo kept munching, although the sentiment of his words was still very much present, "I think this is the regular you. Or rather—I mean—ugh, how I do word this…This seems like the easier you."

The eyebrow raised further, accompanied by a warning flash of the eyes.

"No, that's not what I meant! What I mean is…you seem more…you than before…like it's easier to be you when you're like this, if that makes sense…"

Ema seemed to let this roll around a bit in her head as she considered something unseen to Apollo, just tilted her head back and looked past the ceiling for a while before sighing, "No, I assure you that cynicism and sarcasm are definitely me, and I suppose—in some ways—I like it that way."

Apollo sat respectfully as he waited for the rest of what Ema wanted to say, gave her the space to let things order themselves in her mind, "But I'll admit…there was…_is_ more to me than just that, and maybe somewhere along the way I forgot about that."

He just nodded, because he neither had the history with Ema nor the relevant insight to voice any advice or consolation, but he'd always been rather good at reading people, and his mind couldn't help but wander back to the earlier snippet she'd made about Europe.

After the appropriate amount of time, he ventured with, "Hey Ema?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you should take that test again."

She huffed and rolled her eyes, before throwing back a half-hearted, "Yeah, and I think you should sleep with the fop."

Apollo just chewed thoughtfully, "I guess we'll see about that."

Ema actually laughed a bit, before once again switching her Snackoos for coffee, "Mmm. We'll see."


	18. Epilogue

Attention! There is actually one last chapter before this epilogue. However, I wasn't sure it would fly by the site's rating system, so you can find the last chapter on my Ao3 account, under the same username, Neriede.

* * *

><p>Klavier blinked away the halos of light from his vision, brought on by watering eyes that had opened too soon upon waking. He half-heartedly slid one leg against the other, the smooth caress of sheets and cool air comforting, as he was oft to do in the mornings. This particular morning was made all the sweeter, as there was also the soft touch of foreign skin, of Apollo's calf brushing against his, and Klavier simply smiled.<p>

There was a small noise, barely a breath, and Apollo stirred in his sleep, turned into the curve of Klavier's body, grabbed at him and pulled close with the automatic motions of someone who has clutched their pillows at night their whole life, because it was better than the alternative of nothing. He wasn't even really awake, just skirting that edge of consciousness without really crossing it—Klavier felt like he was witnessing something private, something honest and for his eyes only, something in the way Apollo held him without reservation or even literally thinking about it.

He murmured gently, "Let's make breakfast together."

Apollo hummed out a reply, "Okay, sounds good."

He said it with the tone of someone not really there, who had just enough brain cells awake to register reality bleeding into their dreams, just enough to spit out what was maaaybe an appropriate and matching response.

"Jam and butter on toast, maybe some soft boiled eggs. We can grind the coffee beans fresh…"

"Mmmm."

He doubted Apollo would even remember this exchange in an hour.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content and important.

He knew Kristoph would definitely have not approved.

It had been bad enough when he had begun his law career and made his big debut—on the other side of the court. Klavier hadn't heard the end of it, Kristoph berating him for not thinking how the press the would react to two brothers, to family opposing each other, for not thinking of all the effort and (how much work I put into mentoring you, you're so selfish, do you hate me so much you'd rather throw that all back in my face and fight against me in court?)

Klavier could almost hear Kristoph's voice ringing in his ear, like a ghost looking down and surveying their happy little moment, (_I don't approve of the bed you've made, but at least sleep in it, for god sake, don't sleep with the enemy_).

Klavier had to stop himself from shooting back with, (_I am sleeping in my bed—he's here with me_), because one, holy shit Klavier, (_He's not actually here, he's miles away in his jail cell, you have no business letting him get inside your head_).

And two, that sort of thinking was dangerous, for reasons other than being depressing. Apollo was not his to possess—he was here with Klavier only because he wanted to be, because he chose to be here. He was not a bargaining chip with which to play against the fleeting, empty shell of a man he used to respect.

Kristoph was now only a happy memory, so many memories, all of them ruined.

He was the memory of Klavier sitting at a piano, plunking a shoddy child's attempt at Claire de Lune, of big brother's arms encircling him and showing him, (_that's not right, here's how it goes_), and how many times, how many times had he looked back on moments like these and thought them endearing, protective, how often had he not seen them for what they truly were—controlling.

That's all Kristoph was now—an image of a smile whispering helpful secrets about the defense, twisted and spoiled by hindsight, cracked open to reveal a hollowness where there should've been the man he'd spent his entire life trying to make proud.

There was a slight shuffling noise as Apollo adjusted himself against him, still barely conscious. He felt their legs entwine and the brush of Apollo's cheek on his chest, and suddenly his heart felt a little calmer. Klavier breathed in, the scent of the sunlight, the musk of morning, of Apollo and the memory of the previous night, and wrapped his arm around him a little tighter.

That's right.

It was Apollo's arms around him now, and that was all that mattered. This was the man who had dragged all of this out of him in the first place, the only man who could possibly understand him, because this was the man, he realized, who had taken his place at Kristoph's side when he'd walked away from that partnership, who he'd unwittingly let Kristoph sink his claws in to in his stead.

What had Kristoph looked like to Apollo, to someone who had only ever watched everyone he might've considered family eventually leave? He could imagine Kristoph uttering sweet words of praise to an all too eager to please apprentice, words he too had once been all too familiar with—did they echo just as sourly for Apollo now, as well?

They were the same—Kristoph had been family to them both, and now they'd been left to pick up the pieces of each other—only it wasn't the same. For Apollo, Kristoph was only the worst in an already long line of goodbyes.

"I will not leave you."

It came out as barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a roar.

"I—and so many others now—we are not going anywhere," he cradled the back of Apollo's head with his hand, "Is that enough?"

Something—perhaps the way Apollo's arm tightened against his waist—told him it was.

* * *

><p>The suit didn't bunch up around his shoulders, not the way his old one did. He reminded himself to thank Miles later.<p>

"You look good, chief!"

Phoenix laughed, "Chief? That's a new one."

Apollo flashed him a shit-eating grin, "Well it's true, isn't it? Especially now that you actually look the part."

Something swelled up in Phoenix's chest, something akin to pride, or maybe…guilt?

(_Chief, huh?_)

"Well, whatever," Apollo tapped the stack of papers he was holding against the desk, "Congratulations on passing the bar, Mr. Wright!"

Phoenix managed a small smile, surprised himself with how it didn't come as naturally as it should've, with how much less in comparison he had to think about it before he found himself picking up the picture frame off his desk. For a moment it was Phoenix's face reflected in the glass, but it only took a moment for him to tilt it and reveal a smile kinder and more genuine than his was at the moment.

"…Mr. Wright?"

Phoenix absent-mindedly brushed his thumb against the frame before it occurred to him to respond, "Sorry, just thinking."

Curious, Apollo circled his way to Phoenix's side of the desk before settling just behind his boss' chair.

He peeked over Phoenix's shoulder, "Oh. Your old mentor…right?"

Phoenix nodded, a feeling of nostalgia taking over him, "The original 'Chief.' This used to be her desk, actually."

"She must've been a really extraordinary person. I wish I could've met her."

"Ha! Then you really wouldn't be calling me Chief," Phoenix leaned back in his chair, sentimental, "Even now, I've still got nothing on her."

Phoenix could see it, the way Apollo's eyes flickered down to follow the way his thumb pressed in to the frame, could tell he was making his protégé feel like he should suddenly be cautious, something Mia would never have done.

He felt the pretense of the smile on his face slip down into something more honest, "…I haven't been the best mentor to you, have I?"

Apollo's eyes widened a bit, surprised, "You—um…"

He rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly at a loss for something appropriate to say.

"You…have a pretty off sense of humor sometimes, if that's what you mean?"

He sounded confused, like he was trying to figure out just how serious Phoenix had meant for that statement to be, whether this was part of a joke, or meant as some light self-deprecating humor, or if Phoenix really was inviting him to tear him a new one.

Phoenix didn't feel like it was quite his place to say anything yet, just looked Apollo firmly in the eye and implored him to think harder.

"If you're looking for me to say you're employer of the year, I'm not going to."

Phoenix was surprised at how little Apollo's usual bluntness stung. Perhaps he even felt a little…relieved?

"I mean, I don't really think I can, given your track record. Passing the bar and the nice suit today aside, if this past year has been any indication, you're not exactly what anyone would call professional," Apollo rubbed at the skin above his bracelet, "But you know, that doesn't…that's not necessarily the same thing as being a bad employer."

Phoenix just looked at him, "I basically got you fired from your last job."

There was the tiniest of twitches, just enough for Apollo's entire countenance to change, enough to set his spine on fire, and he said immediately, "You're better than Kristoph."

"I…" Phoenix didn't know what to say.

(_Am I really, though?_)

Seven years of bitterly chasing at loose threads, and it was all over now. He got his badge back, and Kristoph was safely behind bars, and yet it all felt flat, like the fizzle of a war story, not so much a victory as the inevitable end brought about by tired soldiers no longer willing to fight. Now what? Why had he gotten this badge in the first place, the first time around? Because Mia had believed in him—because there had been people he needed to believe in and protect as well.

Faith and belief—those were not the driving forces of the man who'd spent seven years obsessing over taking back his redemption.

It had been years since he'd first stood in this office, so nervous about his first case, but he knew he had felt safe under Mia's wing. Mia had looked at him like he was someone who would make her proud.

He'd looked at Apollo like he was someone who would make his case.

And yes, there was no doubting that he now genuinely cared for Apollo, but that wasn't how it had started, not really. Not purely, at any rate. He had finally gotten his badge back, but somehow he didn't feel like he was quite deserving of Mia's pride right now.

"I'm sorry, Apollo. For getting you mixed up in all of this."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Wright?"

"Getting you fired, the Jurist System, never asking for your say in any of this, just doing whatever I wanted and never telling you anything."

Apollo didn't say anything in response to that, not right away. He looked off in to the distance for a moment, as if considering something. Maybe the case files lined neatly on the bookshelf.

"You know, this year has been pretty crazy. I have to admit, this isn't at all how I imagined practicing law would be like."

"Not as clear-cut as you thought it was going to be?" Phoenix tried once more to crack a smile.

Apollo shook his head, "Naw, I think on some level I expected this line of work to be unpredictable. I was inspired by your cases after all."

Phoenix tried not to show that that hurt more than it should've, especially given that it was technically flattery.

"It's more…you can't be alone in this line of work. I think working with you has taught me that. Even if you kept me in the dark about a lot of things—which I'll never stop being angry at you for, don't get me wrong—it still feels good knowing I was part of something good. The Jurist System is a good thing, I think."

He hoisted himself on to the desk, hands in his lap, "I've met lots of people this year. I found my mother, got a sister, a little brother, I even…" Apollo's face pinked over, not really the type of person to say such exposed things as (_fell in love_) out loud, but it was written all over his face.

"And I got to meet you. I know you're not exactly the kind of person I thought you would be, but I've…," he stared at his lap, face getting redder, "I've always admired you."

Phoenix's chest seemed to balloon.

"I really am proud of you for getting your badge back, Mr. Wright."

He felt like crying.

"What have I ever even done for you that wasn't somehow for my own benefit?"

Apollo shrugged, "I can clean a toilet pretty damn well now."

Phoenix blinked. Then he was laughing, actually did start crying, just a little at the corners of his eyes, "You're right, I guess I have taught you well, huh?"

Apollo beamed at him, proud of himself, and hopped off the desk, "The worst of times are when lawyers have to force their biggest smiles, right?"

For the first time, he smiled genuinely down at the picture frame, "How could I forget?"

Mia smiled back at him.

* * *

><p>Machi looked up at the length of the Wright Anything Agency building, feeling very small, in both the literal and metaphorical sense.<p>

(_They are so nice to you. So much nicer than you deserve_.)

Machi shivered in the shadow of the office, rubbed his arms and gripped his shoulders, shoulders so small it only made sense that it had been so easy for Daryan to take hold of them and make him think himself important.

Daryan had been nice too, he remembered.

(_You're a hero, kid. This cocoon's gonna save somebody's life, you know that?_)

He could feel his whole body heating up with embarrassment, even in the privacy of just the memory of it. They had given him a light sentence considering he was a minor, but that had only made it worse, had made him feel even more incompetent, (_So stupid, stupid, stupid, how could you let him persuade you like that, this is why they all treat you like a child_).

"Machi?"

Startled, he jerked his head towards the entrance to see Apollo standing there, a worried look on his face.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I am…thinking."

"Well, come think inside, it's getting cold."

Machi silently began marching back in to the building. It did not escape his notice that Apollo made no attempts to ask him if anything was wrong.

"Um…Mr. Yoostis?"

"I told you, 'Apollo' is fine, Machi," Apollo said gently as he shut the door after him.

Machi pulled at his sleeves, "In Borginia, is rude to call older sibling so simply."

Apollo crossed his arms, brow furrowed, "Do you call all your older siblings by their surname in Borginia?"

"I…have no siblings in Borginia. I am being orphan there."

Apollo looked embarrassed, "No, I didn't mean…what do they call them in Borginia?"

"Is no version of this word in your language. Just Borginian term of respect," Machi looked at the floor, "I never have need to use before."

"You can it use on me, if you want."

Machi's head snapped up, eyes wide, "Really?"

Apollo shot him a smile that was all teeth, "If it makes you feel more at home, sure!"

He found himself smiling back. He reminded himself that Apollo liked it when he smiled.

"In Borginia we say—," and Machi watched the way Apollo listened as he told him, his mother language like something home-made in his mouth after a year of stale bread.

Apollo tried repeating it and was somewhat successful after a few attempts. Machi bit back the urge to mention how coarse his accent sounded. He was too loud, too forceful, but points for trying, he guessed?

"Is there a word for younger brothers too?"

Machi shook his head, "No, is okay to just say simply," he paused as he regarded Apollo with a guarded expression, "…May I ask question?"

Apollo nodded.

"Is okay for me to be here?"

Machi watched the frown on his face form and felt a little guilty, "In the lobby? Or…?"

"Here. As worker."

He could feel Apollo looking at him, could feel the kindness, and it was almost too much.

"Well, technically, given your age, you need certain special permissions from your legal guardians to work at the Borsht Bowl, but Mr. Wright and your mom have already handled that for you. Now, if you don't want to work, that's an entirely different matter…"

"Not that! I am not meaning that!" there was a tone of desperation in his voice, and this time it was Apollo who was startled, "Am I not…embarrassment?"

If Machi regretted asking it, it was only because Apollo looked so distressed and upset upon hearing it.

"Machi, why would we think you're an embarrassment to the Agency?"

"You are lawyer."

Apollo didn't say anything, obviously still confused, and he went on, "I am criminal."

The ensuing silence was almost palpable. Machi gripped at his arm and looked at the floor, just like he always did when his anxiety started building. Maybe it had never occurred to anyone else how odd it was for a person who'd just barely avoided juvie to be working so closely with a law firm. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

(_I ruined it, way to go Machi, now he'll never be nice to you again._)

He chanced a glance back up to see if Apollo had reacted yet. He was met with the sight of the defense attorney, fingertip pressed between his brow, a look of deep concentration on his face. The tension in his shoulders released, but only a little, only to be replaced with curious caution.

After a while, Apollo sighed, "Look, I get it."

Machi had no words—no words he knew how to express in English, anyway. He just stood and listened, tried not to cry when Apollo's hand covered the top of his head, so warm and soft.

"You know, I grew up in an orphanage."

Machi felt the rest of the fear melt away, and he looked up at Apollo, "You did?"

He nodded, "And I watched all the other kids get adopted before I did."

When he laughed it didn't sound bitter, but Machi couldn't help but feel like he detected at least a little bit of sadness in it.

"Nobody wants the kid who isn't so pretty—you don't pick the kid with bandages on his face. Nobody takes home the kid who picks fights and has a police record."

Apollo Justice in trouble with the law?

Machi shook his head vigorously, "No, you is joking."

"I'm serious. If one of my matrons hadn't come along before I turned 18, I probably wouldn't have shaped up in time and been able to expunge my juvenile records. I'm only a lawyer now because of her."

Machi tried to imagine Apollo sitting in a police station, scowling at the officers, and felt almost bad when it wasn't actually all that hard to do.

"Did…did they make with your fingerprints?" he whispered reverently.

"No, no, it was never anything that serious," Apollo waved his hands in front of him, and when he noticed Machi looking sadly down at his own fingertips quickly added, "But the point is, none of that matters if you have the right people supporting you."

Machi could feel his eyes watering, "You are believing in me?"

Apollo nodded, "Now listen. No more of this feeling sorry for yourself business, alright?"

Machi bit his lip, "I…can try."

"Repeat after me—I'm Machi Tobaye, and I'm fine."

His eyes went wide, "What?"

"I'm Machi Toabye and I'm fine!"

Machi's hands both automatically went to his mouth as he let out a timid reiteration, "I am…Machi Tobaye, and I am f-fine."

Apollo pulled his fists in at his sides, cheering him on, "Again, louder!"

His hands moved instinctively to his chest, fists mirroring Apollo's, and he squeezed his eyes closed, "I am Machi Tobaye and I am fine!"

Shaking, he felt Apollo's hand on his head again, and it was enough to calm the tremors, "There, you see? I actually believed you that time."

His speechlessness, for once, had nothing to do with not knowing the right words to say, and everything to do with finally feeling as if nothing else needed to be said.

* * *

><p>"Look, look! Say hi to Daddy, Polly!"<p>

"Trucy, that is a photo."

Apollo was, she decided, no fun, no fun at all.

She was currently in the main lobby, stomach draped over the back of the couch, her phone shoved in Apollo's face.

"Mr. Edgeworth doesn't look so good," he commented on the pale man sitting next to Phoenix, fiddling with his seat belt, "…he doesn't really strike me as the type to fly economy."

"Daddy can't afford first class. Miles offered to cover it for him, but you know how Daddy is," Trucy kicked her legs behind her in succession, back and forth, one after the other, "Look, there's a caption at the bottom! 'Gonna go study some foreign legal systems! Be good, kids!' Like he doesn't trust us to be good."

Apollo squinted at the screen, "…doesn't your dad still have that old flip phone? How is he posting this picture when he's still on the plane?"

"This is Miles' profile! He's probably getting too motion sick while they take off to notice Daddy posting this," Trucy let both her feet fall down against the couch with a thunk, "Isn't this exciting?! God, what I wouldn't give to be going to Europe with them!"

She could see it forming on the tip of his tongue, he was so predictable, "Yeah, yeah, school is important, bla bla bla, Daddy already gave me that spiel."

"How is your homework coming along, by the way?"

Trucy pushed herself up off the couch before propelling herself over it and landing right next to Apollo, "It's too bad you didn't get to go, but I guess somebody's gotta stay and look after law clients."

"Trucy…"

Ugh. Apollo was taking his role as the de facto boss while her dad was away way too seriously. Trucy just drew her legs up to her chest and stared at her phone, smiled so big it hurt a little, but she didn't care.

"Look how happy he is," she held the pad of her finger against the picture, one, two, three seconds before the option to save the image popped up, "I'm keeping this."

She giggled quietly to herself. She hadn't seen her dad this excited about something in…well, not since before he'd first taken her in, to be honest.

She pulled on Apollo's sleeve, "We should take a picture too! They'll see it later when they land!"

He let out a big sigh, but otherwise made no movement to resist as Trucy pulled them close enough to fit inside the screen. She positioned her phone above them, only pressing the shutter when she felt Apollo's antennae spikes were fully well within the shot.

She curled up and leaned against his arm afterwards, "Help me pick a filter!"

"It looks fine as is…although that's one pretty nice, I suppose."

Trucy studied her brother's choice of a washed out, sepia-toned effect, "You only like that one because it makes the red in your suit stand out even more."

She hit save anyway.

A comfortable silence passed between them as she tapped at her phone, adding captions and posting the photo to her profile. It was only a minute before a comment popped up underneath.

'Up to no good, ja? ;)'

She snuck a glance beside her—Apollo had taken out his own phone and was busily pressing at the keys, oblivious. Texting the boyfriend, no doubt.

Trucy quickly commented back, 'You would know. :p'

_Klavier Gavin likes this_.

She grinned to herself, like there were secrets tucked away in the curl of her smile—which was well said and all, given that if there was anything magicians were good at, it was keeping their own secrets. There was a whole world within her that never saw the light of day—magicians were also very good at putting on a show, after all.

There were certain things she never talked about out loud, not because they were painful (although they certainly were sometimes), but because hearing them echo in the privacy of her mind was cathartic conversation enough. Trucy wasn't afraid to speak her mind—she was just very selective about the things she didn't feel like talking about, that was all.

Trucy Wright was not stupid.

She looked at the picture of her dad on the plane and understood that this was a face she'd seen before—both in photos of him pre-disbarment, and for perhaps a year after he'd adopted her, one year of watching that optimism intertwine with defensive steel and cynical iron. She knew it wasn't her fault, but that didn't stop it from feeling like her fault.

Phoenix had cleaned up, taken to standing up straight again, and was now actively very conscious of his role as Apollo's mentor. That was nice.

He still had trouble keeping the pens stocked, drank grape juice straight from the bottle, and laughed at her jokes about Apollo's massive forehead. That was nice too.

Her dad was many things, and in this way, she was very much her father's daughter.

Trucy Wright was, again, not stupid.

Trucy Enigmar however, was a mystery.

Trucy Enigmar was wrapped up in the sorrows of a mother and father who had left her, an eight year old girl not buried so much as the foundation that the person she was now was built on, layers and layers of magic shows and the bright optimism that her father had almost lost to seven years. She accepted this—that was the secret to the curl of her smile.

The secret to a good show, after all, was authenticity.

The smiles she gave to people were—even if they weren't the whole story—real. Trucy had her sorrows, but she was also genuinely happy for her life, as well as grateful. She was grateful to Phoenix for taking her in, and she was grateful to be sitting next to the person largely responsible for his renewed spirit. She was grateful that they weren't alone anymore.

Trucy relaxed a bit more against Apollo's arm, could feel him sympathizing with her, slipping—consciously or not—in to a shared sense of peace. That's what it meant to share Gramarye heritage.

"Hey Polly," she swiped at her phone, "You're happy, right?"

There was a bit of a pause, and then, "Uh, yeah…? Relatively."

"Hey Polly?" she repeated.

He actually stopped pushing the buttons on his phone and looked at her, "You okay?"

The corners of her lips went wide, "Be in my magic show next week!"

Apollo's features slipped seamlessly from concern to a grimace, "I—Do I have to?"

"Come oooon, you totally fell through on the last time I managed to get you to agree to be my assistant," she puffed her cheeks and pushed roughly at his shoulder.

He looked away, his expression progressing into a scowl as if he were remembering something painful.

She knew immediately what he was thinking about, "Yes, you absolutely have to wear that costume I made for you. It'd be such a waste otherwise, pleaaaase."

Trucy did not have the advantage of Apollo's bracelet to tell her when to look for distressing tells, but she could sense him growing slightly tense. Was that…the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks?

She smirked, "I'm sure Klavier won't laugh, you big dummy," when Apollo's head snapped back to look at her and he opened his mouth, she cut him off before he could so much as squawk a rebuttal, "You'll look positively charming, I promise! He'll think you're cute."

Apollo stared at her indignantly, "That's not what I—that's—you don't know that."

She rolled her eyes at him, amused, "Polly, he always thinks you're cute."

"…You're not going to try and split me in half, are you?"

"Relax, I won't try that again until I've perfected it."

"That wasn't a yes or no."

She jumped up from the couch, half because she was deliberately avoiding answering that, and half because she was getting excited, "Mom and Machi can be in it too! And then Machi could play piano afterwards, and mom could sing. Hey, hey, you could sing too, if you wanted! You can sing with mom, Klavier would be so impressed."

To her surprise, Apollo looked like he was seriously considering it, "That doesn't sound so bad, to be honest..."

She bounced in place, "Then you'll do it?!"

"Only—only if it's like you said, with all of us. The whole family on board," he smiled softly, arms crossed.

Trucy squealed, jumped back on the couch and hugged him around the shoulders, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

She only said it three times, but she wished she could convey so much more gratitude than could be expressed in two small words.

(_Thank you for daddy. Thank you for mom and Machi. Thank you for saving my family_.)

Even later, when they were walking aimlessly through the park and he bought her an ice-cream from one of the vendors, told her not to let it drip on to her gloves, was such a nag about how he hoped she was helping Lamiroir out with the laundry and chores and things back at home, and it was only a dollar, but she was still so appreciative.

(_Thank you for being my family_.)

Even later, when the light of her phone illuminated the dark quiet of her room, and she checked her notifications before going to bed, tucked safely under the safety of her blankets. She looked fondly on the photo of her and Polly, feeling as much nostalgia as one could feel for something that had only just happened earlier that day, at the way he frowned up at the lens, charming in its own way next to her eternally inscrutable grin.

She scrolled down, noticing that Apollo had commented.

'You look like you know something I don't.'

_Trucy Wright likes this_.

* * *

><p>Apollo fiddled with his bracelet.<p>

Lamiroir could not see this, but she could feel his nervousness all the same.

"H-how's your recovery going?" he asked quietly.

The buzz at her wrist was unnecessary. Lamiroir was 40 years old—she had more than twenty years on Apollo of having lived with the family curse (that was what her father had always called it, anyway). Her bracelet had long since outgrown its purpose, and she knew right away that there was something weighing on her son's mind.

That was not the question he'd wanted to ask.

"It shouldn't be too long before the bandages can come off," she kindly humored him.

She could hear his feet shuffling under the table—in the next room over she could hear snatches of Trucy and Machi conversing (arguing?) about the fitting of the costume she was sewing for him. The noise of her children made her feel more anchored in space than the feeling of the table under her resting forearms did.

"That's good," Apollo was still quiet.

She waited patiently and comfortably.

"...Hey, so…," ah, here it was, "I was wondering something."

She smiled, as much for her own benefit as his, "I'm an open book."

An open book that was currently having pages shuffled around and some blank ones rewritten, but she didn't like to dwell on these things for more than was necessary. She was sure Apollo would have the sense to know she would only do her best with what little memory she was slowly rebuilding.

"Your bracelet…it's just like mine."

"It is," she traced the patterns in the metal with the tip of her finger, felt the air shift as his breath hitched in hesitation, "In more ways than just design."

Apollo sat up straighter, "So it can do what mine does, too?"

He was still being careful with his words—from what Phoenix had told her, this wasn't something to be expected. She made a small noise of acknowledgement, and was surprised when she actually felt him stiffen even more, could tell he was restless with all of the implications that this raised.

"You're wondering why you're the only one who can use it to sense other's intentions."

It wasn't a question.

For the first time, she managed to chip away at the tension within him a bit, "Yeah, more or less…Trucy can do it too, actually. That's why I…when Mr. Wright told us you were both our mother, that's when I thought that maybe…it runs in the family?"

Her chest swelled with both pride and remorse, and she reached out in what she knew to be Apollo's general direction.

Her hand found its way until it settled softly on top of his, "I am so sorry I wasn't there when you were young. You've grown to be a very smart man."

There was a restrained warmth radiating off of him, and she smiled as he gave a hearty laugh.

"I'm used to hearing that as a preface to 'smartass,'" he coughed, "I mean, uh…haha…"

She found herself giggling, thought it was endearing that he felt embarrassed to swear in front of her, "I've spent a bit of time with Mr. Wright. Believe me, I've heard worse. Although I have noticed a certain…brightness about him these days. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, did you?"

(_Of course you did_), she thought when she heard him scratching bashfully at the crown of his head, (_That's my boy_.)

She bit her lip. Did she really deserve to call him that?

"I'm not really as amazing as all that. Um…so," he deflected the conversation back on track, "these bracelets."

She nodded solemnly, "They've been passed down the Gramarye line for as long as we can remember. They're meant to guide the wearer and help them hone their ability."

Apollo shifted and palmed his wrist, bracelet and all, "So they're basically like training wheels? As in, I might not need it some day?"

"…I suppose you could say that, yes. It takes a significant amount of time for most Gramarye to attune themselves to become that self-aware. Some never achieve it, even."

There was silence as Apollo considered this, and then, "This ability. What exactly is it?"

"Empathy. We can sense when others are tense, to the point of becoming tense ourselves."

The ensuing quietness was unexpected.

The laughter that followed even more so.

She frowned, "How is that funny?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," but he was still chuckling a bit, the table moving as he gripped it to support himself, "People are always telling me I have no tact at all, and now you're telling me I'm an empath? Are you sure you've got the right guy?"

She squeezed his arm suddenly, "You are my son. I am sure of it."

The air went still once again, and then Apollo's hand covered her own, "I...I know. It's just the last thing I would've guessed."

They stayed that way for a bit, before Lamiroir pulled away, "I'm sorry. I have no right to call you that."

"What?! No, no, it's okay," his hands were on hers again, encasing them protectively, "It's fine, I'm fine."

This was how he had held her at their reunion too, with both hands.

This was always how he had held her, she remembered—how he had grasped her the first time after birth with hands so small, so small they only wrapped around her finger—and how he had reached out for her, tiny fingers clasped against her wrist as it slipped away for what she had thought would be the last time.

The gentle hum of Apollo's bracelet, just barely grazing her skin, told her that there was no point in trying to hide how her heart was breaking from him.

"I don't blame you," he said cleanly, no hint of entitlement or self-righteousness whatsoever.

Her voice shook, "You don't even know what it is you're not blaming me for."

There was no way he'd done the math yet, not with how kind he was being, no way he'd realized that she had only been 18, just barely, when she'd had him. He definitely didn't know that at 17 she had run away from home and married her controlling boyfriend, a coward's way of escaping her even more controlling father, only to return home just shy of her 19th birthday with her head hung low and her arms bereft of either husband or son.

She could tell him that a young girl, not even 20, scared and without a penny to her name, had left him on the doorstep of that orphanage for his own good, and this would not have been a lie. Thalassa Gramarye had had no means to take care of a child by herself—she was merely the daughter of the man who had sparked the golden age of magic, after all.

Magnifi Gramarye the Great had had all the fame and fortune he might've needed to support his daughter and her newborn son.

He had also unfortunately been a petty man who did not wish to harbor the child of a rivaling magician's troupe, a man who in his eyes had stolen the star attraction of his show away.

No, it would not have been a lie to say that she had wanted to keep him far, far away from this twisted world of hers.

(_But I was a coward for not leaving that world behind with you_)

"Were you happy, at least?" it came out chocked, and it scared her that she didn't know which answer she was hoping for.

She heard Apollo breathe out through his noise, contemplative, reserved, "…Most of the time I was angry, actually."

"I should've been there for you."

The air swished as he shook his head, "It had nothing to do with that. That's just the kind of kid I was, I think. …Maybe it's good you missed out on my childhood, aha. I wasn't exactly a model child."

He laughed weakly, before realizing he had left his mother with no tactful responses to such a statement as that and continued, "I think I just…everything always made me so mad, you know? The orphanage you dropped me off at wasn't the most well-off place—we had trouble just keeping the lights on sometimes. I would try to cheer up the others with some chords of steel, and they'd smile for a while, sure, but it just…it got hard sometimes for those smiles to feel real."

"You always knew when something was wrong, didn't you?" she whispered, making the connections faster than her son did.

"And I never took any shit from anybody. You ever have the mayor come around and try to sweet talk you and the matrons in to thinking he cares about your little hole in the ground? They give a little charity when the media's watching and then disappear after elections are over. I always hated authority figures, they were the worst. Never bought their lies for a…" he trailed off, the dots in his head slowly connecting, "second."

Apollo suddenly inhaled sharply. Lamiroir felt her breath stop in sympathy with his, but she didn't say anything.

"I used to get headaches when I was younger," he spoke quietly, as if only realizing it for the first time, "One time…one time we were having dinner. Money was tight and we were rationing the food. Everybody was trying their best to deal with the hunger, but when I was sitting in the dining hall with everyone I…I just lost it."

Lamiroir felt her face paling, "How many were in the room with you?"

"I don't know," he swallowed, "Maybe ten? Twelve kids besides me, not including the matrons. That's my best guess. I was five, I think…"

"Apollo…"

"I ended up throwing my spoons against the wall…"

"Not the food?"

"I made them give it to someone else. I threw a fit about how I wasn't feeling well, and then went up to bed and felt better after that."

A sad moan curled up in her throat as she pressed her palms over her eyes. It didn't change anything—everything was still as dark as it ever was, but she still didn't want to feel the direct gaze of her son.

"If I had been there—if I had helped you understand what was going on, if you'd known about your ability—"

"It's okay!" she heard the panic in his voice rising, and it only served to make her feel worse, "I—I got through it alright. I used to just slap my hands over my ears and shout, 'I'm fine!' until it was true."

(_It was anything but fine_)

Apollo sighed, "Look, I'm not good at this sort of thing," there was the lightest of touches on her forearm and she slowly lowered them, lips trembling, "But I don't hate you. I don't regret growing up in that orphanage—it may have been hard, but at least we all had each other. The matrons were strict, but I knew they cared about me. I'm only who I am because of what I went through as a kid."

"Don't tell me leaving you behind was the best thing I could've done for you. I can't claim I'm the one who made you as strong as you are now."

"No, you can't," he said it honestly, but there was a softness, a kindness in it, all the same, "But you're here now."

She tried to breathe in and out, not because she thought she deserved his thoughtfulness, but because she knew it would be bad if she broke down here and they started feeding negative energy off of each other. There was a reason her father had called this the family curse. Their lineage had produced some of the strongest and closest family bonds—but also some of the most broken.

Apollo's hand on hers definitely helped though.

After a moment, she said, "…You're not going to ask?"

He shrugged, "Ask what?"

She breathed deeply one last time, tried to steady both shaking hands against each other, "Why I gave you up."

Apollo shifted, sat up straight at the thought, and she could sense his confusion, but her bracelet remained still against her wrist, telling her his confusion was purely that, no malice or hesitation.

(_It hasn't occurred to him to ask at all_)

She felt more and more undeserving of her son by the second.

"You know," he scratched at his head, "I don't think knowing would change anything. I'm sure you had your reasons."

Lamiroir thought of all the men in her life—her first husband, who had convinced her to uproot her whole life for him, her father, who had made her feel like her life was worth uprooting in the first place, even Zak and Valant, who had fought over her as if she'd had no say in the matter.

Even without her sight, she lowered her visage, "You are too kind."

"I get that from you then, I suppose."

If she had stopped herself from tears before, it was only because she hadn't wanted Apollo to feel her discomfort.

Tears of relief and solace, she figured, were fair game.

* * *

><p>Iris held the check delicately between pinched fingers, outer most edges barely kissed by her skin.<p>

She blinked at it, then slowly raised her gaze to meet Apollo's, "It's…this is more than usual."

Apollo had always done his best to give what little he could to help out the orphanage, and with a dozen or so mouths to feed, taking his charity had never dealt any blows to Iris' pride. This particular donation gave her moment to pause, however—if she had to guess, it was about the amount one would pay for monthly rent, if they weren't too hung up about living in the less than glamorous parts of town. She didn't think that last bit was worth mentioning, though.

"Did you perhaps…land a big case recently?" she asked hesitantly.

For some inexplicable reason, his eyes darted off to the side and he…blushed? Iris instead shot a confused, inquisitive look over to Pearl, whose smile seemed to be a bit too wide for someone who wouldn't know anything.

"He moved in with Mr. Klavier," she giggled, looking positively giddy as she bit her lip.

"Yeah—!" Apollo interjected suddenly, volume dangerously rising at a rate proportional to the rising blush on his face, "I wanted to help him with the rent on his place too, but he insisted."

Iris gave a subdued but genuine smile, doing her best to not immediately coo and fuss over this news, "I—thank you. This means so much right now."

Pearl had started accompanying Apollo on his trips to the orphanage, groceries for the next month were taken care of, Apollo was making good progress with his cute boyfriend—there were quite a few things to be happy about at the moment.

"So," Iris carefully folded the check in half, corner to corner, precise movements as sharp as the quiet elegance she naturally employed, "You and Prosecutor Gavin are getting pretty serious, I take it?"

Pearl gave several, smart claps in quick succession, doing absolutely nothing to conceal her enthusiasm, "Isn't it just the sweetest?!"

To her surprise, Apollo's shoulders relaxed, and he just stared at the floor, cheeks still glowing.

"I've got a key and everything," he said softly.

Something light and airy flooded her chest. He looked so…happy.

(_I know that look_.)

It was like looking in to a mirror, like seeing herself, but young, nineteen, and in love for the first time in her life. There was something else stirring in her as well—Iris imagined it was not unlike what fathers and mothers felt when looking upon their children, and for the first time suddenly seeing a whole and fully realized person. It was a feeling that took hold of the entire body, quiet, immediate, unforgiving and wholesome—time was marked and made tangible by feelings such as these. She thought briefly of years ago, of the skinny youth she'd carefully bandaged, both with compresses and stories, and to look at him now…

"I'm so…" her voice caught in her throat, "I'm so glad for you."

There was a rustling at her side, followed by the attachment of Pearl's arms around hers.

Iris blinked wordlessly at the girl as Pearl gently bounced a bit, surprised but not unpleasantly so, "They're going to be so happy together forever, don't you think?"

There was something about Pearl that made her feel at ease, impressed even—she was so lively and cheerful, so outspoken and sure of herself in the purest of ways, everything Iris had always wanted to be when she was younger. Certainly everything Dahlia wasn't.

She shot a knowing look at Apollo, "We're all hoping that, I think."

He just gave her a soft expression, "Well, I'm certainly not making plans to leave any time soon."

Iris' felt her eyes crinkle as she looked at him. She touched a hand to the ones Pearl had wrapped around her arm, held back a sniffle and then smiled, felt it press the tears at the corners of eyes until they spilled over and she finally just let it overwhelm her.

"No, no, no," Apollo said suddenly, affectionately, before sweeping her into his arms, "What is it with me this week, you're the second person I've made cry."

"I'm just so," she let out another sniffle, almost a hiccup, and Pearl squeezed her arm, "so proud of you."

She stepped back, as if to better take in the whole of him. Where was the scrawny, angry teen she'd once fretted over? It wasn't even that he was taller than her now (if only by a few inches). There was a largeness in the way he carried himself, the way he stood straight and proper, so sure of himself.

She thought back to what Apollo had just said, "...you made someone cry?"

"Oh," he pulled at one of the spikes on his head, "Just had a talk, sort of, with my mom. Nothing bad, just a little emotional."

"Oh," Iris echoed.

Without meaning to, she felt the happiness she'd been feeling crack ever so slightly, the faintest of tightenings in her chest.

(_Jealousy is...normal, right?_) she tried to reassure herself, (_He's not going to replace you. It's not even the same thing—you're not his mother_.)

It wasn't that much of a feeling to mean anything, really, but it was enough for Apollo to notice. He always noticed, after all.

He gave her a slight nod, a very sincere look, "You know, in a way, all of this is happening because of you."

"It's fine Apollo, really," she said, but even though it really was okay, she found herself not wanting him to actually stop.

"I wouldn't have met Trucy, Klavier, or my mom if I hadn't become a lawyer," he grinned and flashed the badge at his breast proudly, then softened again, very serious, "And I wouldn't have become a lawyer if it weren't for you."

"Wouldn't have met me and dragged me all the way down here either, if he'd never met Mr. Wright and Trucy!" Pearl added vigorously.

She chuckled, "That is true."

For all that she'd put up a fight initially, she really was appreciative of Apollo's stubbornness in getting the two to meet. It was painful to admit, but without his intervening she would've probably stayed content—

(_Afraid_), she corrected herself, of ever leaving the safety of seclusion.

Iris pulled softly on a strand of her hair and wondered, briefly, what valor looked like—did it take the shape of restraint, of selflessness? Was it brave to let people go before you could hurt them, or was all that just a pretense for protecting yourself from getting hurt? Her life before in the temple with Sister Bikini had been like this too—safe, predictable, within her control. Telling stories to children, providing them with all the things she'd felt had been robbed from her, the childhood that she had deserved but never been afforded—this had been her way of telling herself things were alright now.

Iris closed her eyes to a slightly bewildered Apollo and found, for the first time, that this was not enough.

"I don't think I'll be here next week."

"What? Why?" Apollo asked before she could articulate, and she smiled at the way he had always been so plainspoken, even now, even with just the little things.

She had always admired how something she'd had to work very hard at came so easily to him.

"There's a certain agency I'd like to visit," she said simply, and that was enough.

(_More than enough—I'm done with enough_)

Iris pulled at her hair again, like it was fourteen years ago, like she was still at Hazakura Temple. Even without her hood physically there, the motions of pulling at it were as soothing as always. The temple had been stowed away in the mountains, and Iris had never gotten any visitors other than the eternal eight inches of snow, but she'd had a roof over her head, three steady meals, and Sister Bikini had had enough kindness in her bones for the both of them—these were not things that people who had just been abandoned by their family got to complain about.

Twelve years ago, it hadn't mattered that she was in love with Phoenix—it hadn't even mattered that he hadn't known her real name. For once, someone had needed her; for once, her sister actually talked to her. Her identity had seemed like such a small price to pay at the time.

Five years later, this same price would buy her a jail cell.

Her whole life had been an exercise in being erased in to the background. Her father had hidden her away at Hazakura Temple, her sister had hidden her beneath the face they had shared, and now she was hiding herself away in this orphanage.

How she had managed to stand before Apollo until now, the most unrepentant and driven person she'd ever known, was a mystery to her. She watched the way his eyes studied her, so self-assured and full of the determination she'd instilled within him, and thought perhaps for once it was his turn to teach her a little something about going after what she wanted.

It was more than enough—it was what she deserved.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until exactly one month, 30 days before the fact, that Klavier realized he was marking the days on his calendar leading up to Kristoph's execution.<p>

It wasn't the way the time had snuck up on him that surprised him—it was that he realized, in some way, he was anticipating it. He wondered briefly (and then not so briefly) if this made him a bad person.

He wasn't looking forward to it, exactly. Manipulative and murderous tendencies aside, a life-time of adoration and familial love were not something that could be easily scrubbed from one's bones—Kristoph's death, he knew, was not what he wanted. What he wanted was closure—what he wanted was the opportunity, after all this time, to finally move on. He wanted to heal.

Did that make him a monster? He didn't know what he was, except tired.

So very, very tired.

"I'm making spaghetti!" Apollo called from the kitchen when he heard the door open.

At least he had this, right? A warm meal and a warm person to share it with—it didn't fix the way he felt, but he knew it wasn't supposed to. It was just a small comfort, but he knew later on it would make all the difference. It made him feel a little better, at least. Klavier kicked his shoes off, then meticulously set them out of the way, neat and side by side, a compulsion that he didn't really have the energy for but did anyway out of habit.

"You look like shit," Apollo sounded slightly closer this time, and when Klavier looked up he saw Apollo's head poking around the corner, wooden spoon in hand.

"Rough day," he lied.

More like rough year.

Apollo bit his lip, "…you okay?"

Klavier thought about how to answer this. He didn't think he had the words yet to talk about it—but he also didn't want to shut Apollo out.

"No," he said simply.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"…Eventually."

Apollo seemed to consider something, but didn't press the issue, "Okay. Go lie on the sofa. I'm almost done with dinner."

Klavier did as advised, laid his head on a cushion, and felt soreness flood his neck muscles in the sudden absence of the effort needed to hold his head up. It had been _that_ kind of day, it seemed, where it didn't hit him how tense he was being until he actually, finally tried to relax. He ached—ached all over, ached in places that weren't quite physical, tiredness to the point of being unable to sleep. He breathed deep and turned his head towards the soft sounds of rustling in the kitchen.

For a moment, everything else was quiet and still.

It took the far off ringing of Apollo's phone, wasn't until Apollo was sticking his head out again and going, "Really?" that it registered with him that he'd somehow taken his phone out and dialed the first number on his speed dial.

"Talk in to the phone, I want to pretend you're right next to me."

He half expected to be chastised for being silly, _(I'm literally just in the other room you know)_, he pre-emptively heard Apollo's voice in his head, and then was a little sorry for putting words in the other man's mouth (even if just in the privacy of his thoughts) when Apollo really did flip his phone open and raised it to his ear.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself, Mein Forehead."

"I really am almost done."

"Mmmmm," Klavier shut his eyes and let Apollo's voice become his whole world, "Don't mind me. How was your day?"

Sounds of water bubbling, Apollo tapping the wooden spoon against the rim of the pot, "Practiced a bit with Trucy, although it's really her and mom's show to be honest. I just move props around with Machi and then come out for a bit at the end to sing."

He genuinely laughed a little, "It's the assistant's job to be helpful and look pretty, isn't it? I think it suits you."

"I can't wait for you to see it!" Klavier could feel the warmth of Apollo's enthusiasm spread over him and it felt so good, "I'm really glad you helped me with my singing—mom was kind of impressed. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would've been to tell the Siren of the Ballad that her son was a screeching banshee?"

Even from across the apartment, Klavier could imagine the broad grin framed by flushed, excited cheeks, and he felt the urge to kiss his ever so endearing boyfriend rising, although it still didn't quite quell the hollow feeling it had to sift through on its way up. There was a sound of rushing water as Apollo drained the noodles, the hiss of steam somehow soothing—he liked the way an image of his boyfriend's face framed by mist and vapor sat in his mind. It was enough for the next couple of minutes to just listen and not speak; he just stared at the ceiling until he felt a soft nudge at his shoulder.

"You feeling up to eating, or am I going to have feed you?" Apollo set one of the plates on the coffee table with a _clink_, crouched down to speak closer_._

Klavier didn't even need to look at his phone to hang up, just let it fall stiffly from his grip on to the couch beside him.

"Is that an offer?"

"You wish," Apollo scoffed, but the way he brushed Klavier's bangs aside was warm all the same.

Without ceremony, he shifted to sit down fully on the floor, knees up and balancing the plate of spaghetti he slurped from, "Still don't want to talk about it?"

They weren't quite eye level like this, but it still felt very personal and intimate enough, with Apollo's face so close to his.

He barely breathed, he was so tired, "Kristoph's execution is in a month."

The loud slurping stopped. Quietly, Apollo bit down on his noodles, set the fork down, and put the plate aside.

"I know."

His throat suddenly felt like it was closing up, and his breath grew shallow for a completely different reason, "I…"

Klavier Gavin did not cry. His eyes watered, he forced air in to his lungs with a gasp, and he covered his eyes with the back of his forearm, but he did not cry. There was a pressure on the back of his eyes, like going cross-eyed in the dark, and shit, shit, shit, not now, not here, not in front of Apollo, please, _mein gott—_

"Do you know if you want to be there or not?"

He swallowed, "Kristoph has refused his right to an audience."

"Would you have liked to be there?"

"What's less monstrous, that I want to watch a man be put to death, or that I want to leave my brother to die alone in his final moments?"

There was something clawing around in his chest, like steel wool all tangled and sharp, something nasty and confused and scared and spilling out of him in the form of words.

When the touch of Apollo's hand came, kind and unafraid, Klavier remembered to exhale.

He felt a little calmer, but only just so, "What I want…is for this to be over already. I don't want to have to make that decision—I shouldn't _have _to. It's better this way."

_(What I __**want**__), _he thought, _(What __**I**__ want is to go back and make myself not accept that stupid piece of forged evidence. I would've trusted myself better and not ignored the signs, I would've taken my brother and shaken him to his senses, I would've—)_

"This is my fault."

Apollo, who had laid his head on the couch, sat up very straight, "_It absolutely is not_."

"I would rather it be my fault than accept that there was nothing I could've done to stop this."

Apollo stared at him.

"Then it's my fault too."

"No_._"

"It's my fault—"

"_No._"

"Listen you—you—you _glimmerous fop_," and then Apollo was hovering over him, hands on both sides of his face and looking at him as if _daring_ him to look away, and Klavier had never felt so terrified or so loved, "If you're going to insist on taking the blame for this then don't be selfish, because my choices mattered too. I worked for him and I never saw him for what he was."

"But you did—you're the one who put him away."

"Only because Mr. Wright all but practically shoved the evidence for it in my face, and even then I didn't understand it all until the Misham case."

"You dragged that darkness out of me."

"And I couldn't have done it without you."

If getting hit with a ton of bricks felt good, Klavier imagined it might've felt the way he felt now, like the wind had gotten knocked in to him instead of out. The weight of Apollo as he pressed himself to Klavier's chest was almost just as heavy.

"The only case I ever won…is the only one that I wish I could take back. You have…Mr. Wright has every right to hate me."

"You were only seventeen," Apollo's voice echoed against his ribcage, "And Kristoph was a monster."

Klavier's hand found its way to the crown of his boyfriend's head, "I became a prosecutor for him and he hated me for it. I wanted so badly to stand across from him, as an equal, as a _partner_, and he never, not _once_—"

He felt Apollo's fingers clench around the fabric of his shirt, "You have me."

Apollo felt so small against him, curled around his chest, and yet somehow also larger than the sum of them both. Apollo was justice, and fire, and steel, all of these things wrapped around him like the eye of a protective storm. Klavier touched the backs of his fingers to Apollo's cheek, slow and deliberate.

There was a picture in the back of his mind, the first time he ever saw Apollo this close. The morning of Kristoph's first arrest, this was the face that had adorned the papers—this was the face of the man who had sparked his interest in returning to the courtroom. The photo the newspapers had ran had been grainy, zoomed in just beyond the camera's ability to capture him smoothly—it was nothing compared to the real thing in front of him now. This was the face that had signaled the rebirth of his law career, and the end of his relationship with Kristoph.

One month from now, that end would be final, but Apollo would still be here.

It wasn't quite the closure he yearned for, but he knew, looking at the way Apollo clung to him gently, that this was where it started.

"And to think, when all of this first started, I couldn't believe my luck. I thought I didn't deserve any of it," Apollo spoke quietly.

"And now?"

He just smiled softly, "I still don't."


End file.
